BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF      I 

CALIFORNIA      J 

^  ~-^^ 


SOUTHERN  WRITERS; 


BIOGRAPHICAL  AND 
CRITICAL  STUDIES. 


Volume  II. 


NASHVILLE,  TENN.  ;  DALLAS,  TEX.  : 

PUBLISHING  HOUSE  OF  THE  M.  E.  CHURCH,  SOUTH. 

SMITH  &  LAMAK,  AGENTS. 

1911. 


Entered,  According  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1903, 
BT  THR  BOOK  AQKNTS  OP  THE  M.  E.  CHDRCH,  SOUTH, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


9/3 
5757- 


Sin  tlji> 
flWHmn 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

WILLIAM  M ALONE  BASKERVILL i 

MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON 23 

RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON 46 

SHERWOOD  BONNER 82 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE 120 

JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 152 

MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON 244 

Miss  GRACE  ELIZABETH  KING 272 

SAMUEL  MINTURN  PECK 291 

MADISON  CAWEIN 332 

A  CLOSING  SUMMARY 379 

(v) 


WILLIAM  MALONE  BASKERVILL. 

Remembering  all  the  golden  hours 
Now  silent,  and  so  many  dead, 
And  him  the  last. 

THE  death  of  Prof.  Baskervill,  September  6, 
1899,  cut  short  a  career  that  had  already  ac- 
complished much  and  promised  more.  His 
technical  scholarship  was  recognized  by  his 
colleagues  in  English  throughout  the  United 
States ;  his  teaching  quality  attested  by  students 
who  had  been  resorting  to  him  in  increasing 
numbers  for  more  than  twenty  years ;  his  power 
to  please  as  well  as  instruct  the  general  public 
evidenced  by  numerous  calls  to  lecture  at  Chau- 
tauqua,  in  Colorado,  at  Monteagle,  and  else- 
where; and  he  was  just  finding  his  widest  audi- 
ence through  his  literary  sketches  and  studies, 
and  awakening  in  good  judges  the  conviction 
that  he  was  to  be  the  historian  of  the  intellectual 
movement  called  Southern  Literature. 

William  Malone  Baskervill,  son  of  Rev.  John 
Baskervill  and  his  wife,  Elizabeth  Malone,  was 
born  in  Fayette  County,  Tenn.,  April  I,  1850. 
His  mother  died  when  he  was  four  years  old,  so 


2  WILLIAM    M ALONE    BASKERVILL, 

that  his  training  devolved  mainly  upon  his  father. 
The  latter,  a  member  of  an  old  Virginia  family, 
had  removed  in  early  life  from  Mecklenberg, 
Va.,  to  Tennessee,  and  was  first  a  physician,  after- 
wards a  Methodist  preacher  and  planter.  The 
son  attended  school  almost  uninterruptedly  till 
he  was  fifteen,  getting,  as  he  himself  afterward: 
said,  "a  smattering  of  Latin  and  Greek  and  of 
the  usual  English  studies."  He  was  then  sent  to 
Indiana  Asbury  University  (now  De  Pauw), 
and  this  episode  also  he  characterized  in  terms 
of  like  directness :  "But  I  did  nothing,  and  at  six- 
teen I  was  again  at  home."  From  this  time  he 
was  more  fortunate.  "For  the  next  two  years 
and  a  half,"  he  wrote  in  his  Vita,  "I  went  to 
school  to  Mr.  Ouarles,  a  graduate  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia,  and  from  him  I  learned  more 
than  I  had  learned  all  the  time  before." 

Before  he  reached  manhood  he  met  with  an 
accident  the  consequences  of  which  much  influ- 
enced his  future  career.  Being  in  his  boyhood, 
as  indeed  all  through  life,  fond  of  hunting,  on 
one  occasion,  through  the  accidental  discharge  of 
his  gun,  he  \vas  badly  wounded  in  his  left  arm. 
During  the  three  months'  confinement  that  fol- 
lowed the  boy  was  wisely  provided  by  his  father 
with  the  histories  of  Macaulay,  Hume.  Gibbon, 


WILLIAM    AI  ALONE    BASKERVILL.  3 

and  Michelet,  and  the  novels  of  Scott,  Dickens, 
and  Thackeray.  He  had  been  a  reader  before, 
but  through  this  constant  poring  over  the  works 
of  great  masters  he  acquired  the  taste  and  en- 
thusiasm for  the  best  literature  which  character- 
ized him  through  life.  One  of  the  first  things 
I  especially  remarked  about  him,  when  I  came  to 
know  him  in  Leipzig  in  1874,  was  the  way  he 
would  sometimes  break  off,  particularly  when 
he  was  not  well,  from  our  studies  in  Greek  and 
Latin  to  take  a  rest  with  Thackeray  or  some 
other  English  classic.  "It  is  the  reading  men  in 
college,"  as  Mr.  Mabie  says,  "who  do  the  great 
things  in  the  world." 

The  most  important  epoch  in  his  mental  de- 
velopment was  when  he  went  at  twenty-two  to 
Randolph-Macon  College.  Dr.  James  A.  Dun- 
can was  then  President,  Thomas  R.  Price  Pro- 
fessor of  English  and  Greek,  James  A.  Harri- 
son Professor  of  Latin  and  German;  and  these 
three  men,  especially  the  two  latter,  influenced 
his  subsequent  life  more  than  all  others.  "There 
I  was  taught,"  he  said,  "in  my  favorite  studies 
by  men  who  had  studied  in  Germany,  and  by 
their  advice  I  was  led  to  go  to  Leipzig  in  the 
summer  of  1874."  When  I  came  to  know  him 
that  fall  the  names  of  Price  and  Harrison  were 


4  WILLIAM    MALONE   BASKERVILL. 

constantly  on  his  lips.  Their  ideals,  their  meth- 
ods, their  characters  as  scholars,  were  deter- 
mining factors  with  him.  Dr.  Price,  the  accu- 
rate scholar  and  inspiring  teacher  of  English, 
became  his  model,  and  the  close  friendship  be- 
gun at  Randolph-Macon  continued  when  the 
former  went  later  to  the  University  of  Virginia, 
and  afterwards  to  Columbia,  indeed  as  long  as 
'  Baskervill  lived;  and  his  sense  of  obligation 
was  most  delicately  expressed  when,  on  meeting 
Dr.  Price  for  the  last  time,  in  New  York  in  1897, 
he  introduced  a  former  pupil,  now  a  rising  pro- 
fessor of  English,  as  Dr.  Price's  "literary  grand- 
son/' The  cordiality  of  the  relation  that  existed 
between  Dr.  Price  and  his  old  pupils  may  be 
inferred  from  a  remark  which  I  have  heard 
Baskervill  quote  from  the  former,  that  a  trustee 
had  told  him  he  owed  his  election  to  the  chair  of 
English  at  Columbia  mainly  to  the  enthusiastic 
letters  written  by  his  former  students.  He  al- 
ways regarded  Dr.  Price  as  the  pioneer  and 
founder  of  the  new  epoch  of  English  studies  in 
the  South;  and  Price's  teaching  of  English  at 
Randolph-Macon  was  not  only  his  chief  early 
inspiration,  but  the  model  and  basis  on  which 
later  he  gradually  built  up  his  own  department 
of  English  at  Vanderbilt. 


WILLIAM    MALONE    I'.A&KERVILL.  5 

With  Prof.  Harrison,  who  afterwards  in  the 
English  Chair  at  Washington  and  Lee  so  en- 
hanced the  reputation  already  acquired  at  Ran- 
dolph- Macon  that  his  call  to  his  Alma  Mater,  the 
University  of  Virginia,  became  inevitable,  Bas- 
kervill  was  always  in  close  association,  not  only 
consulting  him  about  all  his  literary  undertak- 
ings, but  collaborating  with  him  on  several 
works.  For  Prof.  Harrison's  "Library  of  An- 
glo-Saxon Poetry"  he  edited  the  "Andreas,"  his 
first  piece  of  scholarly  work  after  his  doctor- 
dissertation.  The  two  edited  together  a  "Stu- 
dents' Dictionary  of  Anglo-Saxon,"  and  shortly 
before  Baskervill's  death  their  last  joint  work 
appeared,  an  "Anglo-Saxon  Reader"  for  be- 
ginners. One  other  teacher  of  his  should  not 
be  overlooked :  Prof.  Wuelker,  of  Leipzig  Uni- 
versity, under  whose  supervision  he  wrote  his 
doctor-dissertation,  to  whom  in  after  years  he 
sent  some  of  his  favorite  pupils,  and  with  whom 
he  continued  in  friendly  relations  to  the  end. 

A  characteristic  of  Baskervill's  student  life 
should  here  be  mentioned.  When  he  went  to 
Randolph-Macon  he  found  everything  elective 
and  the  way  open  to  him  to  pursue  his  favorite 
studies  as  he  pleased.  To  do  this,  it  is  true,  he 
would  have  to  renounce  the  hope  of  an  academic 


6  WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL. 

degree ;  and  so  he  either  waived  this  completely, 
or  at  least  put  it  off,  to  be  determined  later,  when 
he  should  have  first  had  opportunity  to  work  to 
some  results  in  his  own  lines.  He  was  maturer 
in  years  than  most  of  his  fellow-students,  prob- 
ably somewhat  backward  in  mathematics,  and 
without  any  text-book  acquaintance  with  the  sci- 
ences. He  was  for  his  age  well  read  in  English 
literature  and  history,  and  had  a  fair  knowledge 
and  great  love  of  Latin  and  Greek.  He  devoted 
himself,  therefore,  during  his  two  years  at  Ran- 
dolph-Macon  almost  entirely  to  work  in  languages 
— English,  Greek,  Latin,  German,  and  French.  I 
think  Dr.  Duncan's  lectures  on  mental  and  moral 
philosophy  were  his  only  departure  from  literary 
lines.  Such  a  course,  if  not  best  in  general,  was 
perhaps  not  ill  for  him.  He  had  very  strong 
predilections,  studied  enthusiastically  what  he 
liked,  but  was  not  characterized  strongly  by  the 
spirit  to  "work  doggedly"  at  what  he  did  not 
like.  The  atmosphere  that  prevailed  just  then 
at  Randolph-Macon  was  a  very  wholesome  one : 
the  spirit  of  the  faculty  was  scholarly ;  among 
the  students  the  sense  of  honor,  the  habit  of 
hard  work,  the  respect  for  high  scholastic  rank 
were  stimulating  in  the  highest  degree.  So 
Baskervill  worked  effectively,  in  most  studies 


WILLIAM    MALOXE    P.ASKEfcVlLL.  7 

enthusiastically,  and  took  high  rank  in  his  spe- 
cial subjects ;  but  he  never  applied  for  a  bach- 
elor's degree,  and  in  1874  proceeded,  on  the  ad- 
vice or  Price  and  Harrison,  to  Leipzig  Univer- 
sity. 

The  freedom  of  choice  of  studies  in  which  he 
had  indulged  at  Randolph-Macon  characterizes 
of  course  all  German  University  work — though 
presupposing,  and  in  case  of  German  students 
requiring,  a  basal  course  much  more  rigid  than 
ui;y  American  college  exacts — so  that  Baskervill 
found  it  easy  to  follow  there  his  own  bent.  If 
he  showed  any  willfulness  at  Leipzig,  it  was  in 
this :  that  he  did  not  take  a  wide  range  of  lec- 
tures in  his  own  subjects — I  fear  academic  lec- 
tures often  bored  him — and  he  was  not  an  enthu- 
siastic worker  in  Seminar  or  Gesellschaft.  The 
lectures  he  took  he  attended,  and  he  got  some- 
thing from  personal  contact  with  his  instructors, 
especially  with  Wuelker ;  but  in  the  main  he 
worked,  under  direction,  at  his  room  and  in  the 
library.  I  doubt  if  this  was  the  best  way  to  get 
the  most  possible  out  of  a  German  University 
course;  but  he  was  diligent,  and  was  certainly 
influenced  for  good  in  his  whole  subsequent  ca- 
reer. His  Leipzig  Ph.D.  (1880)  was  a  valuable 
stamp  set  upon  his  work  up  to  that  point, 


8  WILLIAM    M ALONE    BASKERVILL. 

pledged  him  to  sch'olarly  effort  for  the  future, 
and  proved  an  open  sesame  to  a  field  of  activity 
that  might  otherwise  have  'been  closed  to  him. 

Baskervill  remained  in  Germany  from  the 
summer  of  1874  till  the  autumn  of  1876.  My 
work  at  Wofford  in  Latin  and  German  was  be- 
coming too  heavy,  and  I  persuaded  the  author- 
ities to  call  Baskervill  in  December,  1876,  the 
arrangement  being  that  he  should  take  the  Latin 
while  I  gave  myself  more  especially  to  Greek. 
At  Wofford  Baskervill  taught  till  June,  1878. 
In  the  summer  of  1877  he  was  married  to  Miss 
Florence  Adams,  of  Amherst  County,  Va.,  his 
belo.ved  college  President,  Dr.  James  A.  Dun- 
can, performing  the  ceremony.  In  the  summer 
of  1878  he  went  again  with  his  young  wife  to 
Germany,  to  work  for  his  degree.  Old  rela- 
tions were  resumed  at  Leipzig,  English  and 
cognate  studies  were  being  pursued  with  zeal 
and  energy,  and  a  subject  for  a  thesis,  which 
had  been  assigned  him  by  Prof.  Wuelker,  was 
yielding  good  results,  when  the  sudden  death  of 
his  wife,  following  the  birth  of  a  little  boy, 
threw  all  into  confusion.  He  tried  to  work  a 
few  months  longer,  but,  finding  it  impossible,  re- 
turned to  America  about  February,  1879.  When 
I  withdrew  from  Wofford,  in  June,  1879,  to  re- 


WILLIAM    MALOXE    BASKERVILL.  9 

sume  my  studies  in  Leipzig  University,  it  was 
natural,  of  course,  that  Baskervill  should  take  my 
place.  I  had  had  for  the  previous  year  the  chief 
work  in  Greek  and  Latin,  with  James  H.  Kirk- 
land,  now  Chancellor  of  Vanderbilt  University, 
as  assistant,  and  this  work  Baskervill  carried  on 
as  long  as  he  remained  at  Wofford. 

The  Wofford  period  was  formative  for  Bas- 
kervill in  many  respects,  though  it  offered  little 
opportunity  in  the  branch  that  was  to  be  his 
specialty,  since  his  time  was  mainly  given  to 
teaching  Latin  and  Greek.  It  brought  him  into 
intimate  contact  with  Dr.  Carlisle,  whom  Prof. 
Henneman  has  aptly  characterized  as  "a  man 
fashioned  in  the  same  teacher's  mold  as  Dr. 
Arnold,  of  Rugby,  and  of  whom  every  student 
ever  with  him  thinks  reverently  as  of  one  of 
the  truly  and  simply  great  in  his  state  and  age/' 
Dr.  Whitefoord  Smith  had  not  then  given  up 
his  chair  of  English,  Prof.  Wallace  Duncan,  now 
Bishop,  was  teaching  Mental  and  Moral  Phi- 
losophy, and  DuPre,  Gamewell,  and  the  writer 
were  younger  associates.  A  fruitful  episode  of 
this  period  was  his  summer's  run  over  to  Leip- 
zig to  stand  his  examination  for  Ph.D.  It  was 
exhilarating  to  him  and  to  me,  for  we  were  daily 
together  for  a  few  weeks  in  Leipzig,  and  spent 


1O  WILLIAM     MAL-ONE    BASKERVILL. 

together  his  last  week  on  German  soil  in  tramp- 
ing over  the  Harz  Mountains,  with  Treseburg 
as  center  of  operations. 

The  next  spring  came  the  opportunity  of  his 
life,  his  call  to  the  chair  of  English  in  Vanderbilt 
University.1  He  made  there  a  fortunate  and 
congenial  marriage,  and  found  at  once  a  wider 
field  where  he  could  show  his  aptness  to  teach 
and  his  talent  for  building  up  a  department.  He 
exerted  himself  with  success  not  only  to  teach 
well,  but  also  to  please.  His  letters  of  that  pe- 
riod show  that  he  believed  the  Vanderbilt  to  be 
the  best  place  in  the  country  for  a  young  scholar 
to  make  a  reputation  in.  The  recognition  he 
met  with  from  the  faculty,  the  appreciation  of 
him  showrn  by  the  students,  the  kindly  consid- 
eration with  which  he  was  generally  received 
in  Nashville,  were  good  for  him.  Mind  and 
soul  expanded  in  such  influences.  It  was,  to  use 
Sidney  Lanier's  words,  "a  little  of  the  wine  of 
success  and  praise  without  which  no  man  ever 
does  the  very  best  he  might." 

The  teaching  of  English  in  the  South  is  great- 

ll  have  freely  incorporated,  with  slight  changes,  in 
the  remaining  pages  extracts  from  a  sketch  of  Basker- 
vill  \vhich  I  printed  in  the  Christian  Advocate,  October 
25,  1900. 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL.  II 

ly  indebted  to  Baskervill.  Prof.  Price  doubt- 
less inaugurated  the  new  era  in  English  study 
when  Baskervill  was  his  pupil  at  Randolph- 
Macon,  but  the  next  most  important  stage  in 
the  development  was  probably  BaskervilFs  work 
at  Vanderbilt.  His  greatest  results  were  his 
best  pupils.  To  mention  only  English  scholars 
in  prominent  positions,  there  occur  to  me  at  this 
moment  the  names  of  Profs.  Henneman,  Sny- 
der,  Mims,  Hulme,  Webb,  Weber,  Burke, 
Brown,  Sewell,  Reed,  Drake,  and  Bourland,  and 
(adding  three  who  are  well  known  in  other 
lines  of  duty)  Deering,  Ferrell,  and  Branham. 
To  these  and  to  many  others  Mims's  words  ap- 
ply :  "His  life  is  still  being  lived  in  us — leading 
us  on  to  nobler  and  higher  ideals."  It  may  well 
be  doubted  whether  any  other  man  in  the  South 
will  ever  again  before  his  fiftieth  year  be  able 
to  see  such  fruits  of  his  work,  if  for  no  other 
reason,  because  Baskervill  was  a  pioneer  in  the 
new  methods  of  teaching  English.  The  impulse 
his  best  pupils  received  from  him  in  literary 
taste  and  scholarly  aspiration  is  doubtless  the 
best  proof  that  he  himself  possessed  scholarship 
and  literary  taste.  He  made  scholars  not  merely 
by  what  and  how  he  taught  them,  but  by  his 
personal  interest  and  sympathy  in  them  and 


12  WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL. 

their  work.  In  June,  1899,  though  the  doctor 
had  ordered  him  to  go  at  once  to  East  Brook 
Springs,  he  could  not  be  induced  to  be  absent 
from  the  last  faculty  meeting,  because  he  had 
promised  to  support  some  young  men  for  fel- 
lowships, and  they  were  depending  on  him. 

BaskervilFs  heart  was  in  his  teaching  wd  his 
literary  work  still  more  than  in  techi  ':u!  and 
philological  studies.  Besides  his  doeto /-disser- 
tation, the  Anglo-Saxon  text  of  Alexander's 
Epistle  to  Aristotle,  and  the  books  published  in 
collaboration  with  Prof.  Harrison,  he  published, 
with  a  former  pupil,  Mr.  J.  W.  Sewell,  an  Eng- 
lish grammar  for  the  use  of  high  scho  ol,  acad- 
emy, and  college  classes,  also  leaving  in  manu- 
script an  elementary  English  grammar;  and  he 
did  much  etymological  work  on  the  Cer/tury  Dic- 
tionary, and  planned  other  things  of  similar  na- 
ture ;  but  his  heart  was  really  in  other  lines.  In 
a  letter  of  1898,  referring  to  his  contemplated 
revision  of  his  "Andreas,"  he  wrote,  in  the  words 
of  Carlyle,  "And  now  my  poor  wife  will  have  to 
pass  through  the  valley  and  the  shadow  of  An- 
dreas," meaning  the  allusion  to  be  jocose,  it  is 
true ;  but  if  it  had  been  purely  literary  work,  he 
would  not  even  have  thought  of  "the  valley  and 
the  shadow"  in  connection  with  it.  Indeed,  the 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL.  13 

greatest  thing  about  Baskervill,  I  always 
thought,  was  his  fine  literary  taste,  especially 
in  great  prose.  His  reading  was  regularly  on 
high  lines,  literature  that  was  full  of  high  se- 
riousness. The  fact  that  almost  before  he  was 
out  of  his  teens  he  preferred  Thackeray  to 
Dickens,  and  that  no  other  novelist  could  ever 
displace  Thackeray  in  his  estimation,  is  sig- 
nificant of  much.  In  the  last  few  years  I  had 
much  desire  and  curiosity  to  have  a  full,  free 
talk  with  •  him  about  poetry,  to  learn  how  he 
really  felt  it.  But  having  reread  recently  his 
papers  on  "Southern  Writers,"  I  have  noted 
again,  as  before,  that  the  subtlest  study,  as  it  is 
the  longest,  is  of  the  greatest  of  our  Southern 
poets  except  Poe — namely,  Sidney  Lanier ;  and 
I  understand  the  better  his  appreciation  of 
Lanier  since  I  have  recently  become  a  devoted 
adherent  of  that  poet.  I  have  realized,  too,  that 
it  was  the  poetic  side  of  Maurice  Thompson 
which  he  most  highly  estimated  and  most  dis- 
cerningly and  lovingly  discussed.  It  seems  to 
have  been,  also,  in  large  part  the  poetic  gift  of 
Irwin  Russell  which  caused  him  to  give  that 
pioneer  a  prominent  place  in  his  series  of  South- 
ern writers.  But  more  to  the  point  is  a  para- 
graph of  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Baskervill,  dated 


14  WILLIAM    MALX)NE    BASKERVILL. 

October  30,  1900:  "He  had  a  growing  admira- 
tion for  Tennyson  as  a  teacher  and  upholder  of 
great  truths.  He  set  a  high  value  on  the  orig- 
inality and  truth,  the  purity  and  nobility  of 
Wordsworth.  Reading  aloud  from  one  of  the 
'Lyrical  Ballads/  it  might  be,  he  would  say:  'If 
I  know  anything  about  it,  this  is  poetry/  He 
felt  the  beauty  and  the  force  of  it.  Yet,  real- 
izing there  could  be  no  link  of  sympathy  be- 
tween two  such  poets  as  Wordsworth  and 
Burns,  how  he  enjoyed,  I  remember,  reading 
Hazlitt's  trenchant  criticism  on  Wordsworth,  in 
his  essay  on  Burns,  or  his  attack  on  the  'inti- 
mations' of  the  famous  ode,  which  I  believe 
Matthew  Arnold  also  takes  up.  However  sen- 
sible to  the  charm,  I  think  he  felt  after  all  that 
to  study  too  closely  the  poetry  of  Shelley,  and 
even  Keats,  was  like  taking  hold  of  a  butterfly. 
I  recall  how  his  eye  kindled,  his  countenance 
lighted  up,  and  his  whole  frame  seemed  agitated, 
as  he  came  upon  some  fine  passage  from  Car- 
lyle  or  Ruskin  or  Lowell — one  of  those  'electric 
light  flashes  of  truth/  as  he  termed  it.  No  mat- 
ter how  I  happened  to  be  engaged,  I  must  stop 
and  share  his  enthusiasm.  He  intended  making 
a  special  study  of  Browning  the  coming  winter, 
had  gathered  books  and  material  with  such  a 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL.  13 

purpose  in  view.  His  best  teaching,  he  used  to 
tell  me,  was  done  in  Shakespeare.  Yet  after  all 
it  was  in  Thackeray  that  he  still  found  his  chief 
delight — 'that  master  of  characterization,  the 
subtlest  analyst  of  his  time/  Like  Mr.  Page, 
he  never  ceased  to  wonder  at  his  knowledge  of 
human  nature.  Only  the  winter  before  his 
death  he  took  up  Thackeray  again,  with  the  aid 
of  Mrs.  Ritchie's  introduction  to  the  volumes, 
intending  to  write  an  article  for  the  Review.'' 

"How  well  I  remember,"  adds  Mrs.  Baskervill, 
"the  advent  of  the  new  school  of  Southern  writ- 
ers. With  what  zest  he  read  and  reread,  feeling 
a  kind  of  personal  pride  in  each  new  discovery ! 
His  heart  and  soul  were  in  that  work/'  He  had 
for  several  years  been  telling  me  and  writing  me 
about  the  wonderful  new  outcropping  of  South- 
ern writers,  especially  about  Cable  and  Harris,, 
whose  names  I  saw  constantly,  of  course,  in  the 
magazines  and  papers,  but  whom  I  was  then 
"too  busy"  to  read.  I  remember  very  distinctly 
the  day  I  was  inducted  into  the  new  cult.  I  was 
ill  and  confined  to  my  room,  though  able  to  sit 
up.  Baskervill  came  to  see  me,  and  brought 
Cable's  "Old  Creole  Days/'  I  think  I  read  the 
whole  volume  without  rising  from  my  chair, 
with  increasing  appreciation  and  delight  as  I 


i6 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL. 


went  from  story  to  story;  and  when  I  finished 
"Madame  Delphine"  a  glow  passed  over  me 
from  head  to  foot  and  back  from  foot  to  head, 
and  I  said  to  myself,  with  profound  feeling :  "It 
has  come  at  last!"  I  meant  the  day  of  the 
South's  finding  her  expression  in  literature. 
Such  a  moment  of  overwhelming  conviction  and 
satisfaction  can  come  only  once,  I  know.  I 
realized  then  that  the  South  had  the  material 
in  her  old  past,  and  that  we  had  the  writers  with 
the  art  to  protray  it. 

As  I  reread  now  Baskervill's  "Biographical 
and  Critical  Studies  of  Southern  Writers/'  I 
find  myself  marking  many  passages,  some  of 
them  sentiments  which  T  heard  him  express 
many  times  years  ago,  others  bits  of  critical  ap- 
preciation which  impress  me  not  only  as  having 
.come  from  his  inmost  conviction,  but  as  reach- 
ing the  heart  of  the  matter.  Of  this  latter  char- 
acter is  the  remark  about  Mr.  Cable's  "Dr.  Se- 
vier:"  "And  the  hand  that  drew  Ristofalo,  with 
his  quiet  manner,  happy  disregard  of  fortune's 
caprices  and  real  force  of  character,  Narcisse— 
'dear,  delicious,  abominable  Narcisse,  more  ef- 
fective as  a  bit  of  coloring  than  all  the  Grand- 
issimes  put  together7 — and  crowned  him  with 
the  death  of  a  hero-;  and  gentle  Mary,  bright, 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL.  1 7 

cheerful,  brave,  an  ideal  lover  of  her  husband  as 
he  was  of  her,  is  certainly  that  of  a  master,  as 
the  imagination  that .  conceived  them  was  that 
of  a  poet.  There  are  innumerable  touches  in 
the  story  equal  to  anything  that  the  author  has 
ever  done — that  is,  as  beautiful  as  anything  in 
contemporary  fiction." 

As  good  as  that  is  a  passage  on  "Bonaven- 
ture"  (p.  351),  which,  coming  immediately  be- 
fore his  statement  in  a  single  paragraph  of  the 
defects  of  "John  March,  Southerner,"  makes  all 
the  weightier  the  severe  condemnation  there 
pronounced  on  that  unlucky  book — "one  of  the 
dismalest  failures  ever  made  by  a  man  of 
genius."  The  verdict  against  "John  March, 
Southerner,"  concludes  with  the  assurance, 
based  on  "the  'Taxidermist'  and  one  or  two 
other  gems  of  recent  years,"  that  "the  divine  fire 
still  burns,"  and  with  the  wish,  "Would  that  it 
could  be  religiously  consecrated  to  pure  art !" 
For,  says  he  in  his  study,  as  I  have  heard  him 
remark  often,  "The  man  with  a  mission  throt- 
tles the  artist,"  and  "An  artist  out  of  his  domain 
is  not  infrequently  the  least  clear-sighted  of 
mortals."  Indeed,  the  sum  and  substance  of  all 
of  Baskervill's  criticism  of  Mr.  Cable  is  con- 
tained in  this  one  line :  "The  poet,  if  he  is  to  be 

2 


1 8  WILLIAM    M ALONE    BASKERVILL. 

our  only  truth-teller,  must  let  politics  alone." 
Baskervill  was  proud  of  Mr.  Cable's  genius  and 
fond  of  him  personally,  entertained  him  in  his 
home  at  Nashville  for  several  days,  and  used 
to  correspond  with  him;  and  the  real  explana- 
tion of  all  the  criticism  in  his  sketch  of  Mr. 
Cable  is  not  that  Baskervill  as  a  Southerner  so 
much  resented  criticism  of  the  Creoles  and  of 
other  Southern  people,  but  that  Mr.  Cable  was 
devoting  to  philanthropic  notions,  especially  to 
the  negro  question,  genius  that  belonged  to  lit- 
erature. "The  domination  of  one  idea  has  vi- 
tiated," he  said  regretfully,  "the  most  exquisite 
literary  and  artistic  gifts  that  any  American 
writer  of  fiction,  with  possibly  one  exception, 
has  been  endowed  with  since  Hawthorne/' 

I  think  still  that  the  best  of  the  "Studies"  be- 
cause the  most  sympathetic,  the  most  pleasing 
because  it  came  without  reserve  right  from  the 
heart  as  well  as  the  brain,  is  that  on  Joel  Chan- 
dler Harris.  I  know  his  judgment  is  sincere  be- 
cause I  have  heard  it  from  his  lips  many  times. 
He  thought  that  Mr.  Harris,  of  all  the  Southern 
writers,  had  most  effectively  used  his  talents, 
most  completely  fulfilled  his  mission.  "The  most 
sympathetic,  the  most  original,  the  truest  de- 
lineator of  this  larger  life — its  manners,  cus- 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL.  19 

toms,  amusements,  dialect,  folklore,  humor,  pa- 
thos, and  character — is  Joel  Chandler  Harris." 
"Humor  and  sympathy  are  his  chief  qualities," 
he  said,  "and  in  everything  he  is  simple  and 
natural."  Uncle  Remus  he  placed  above  all 
that  Southern  authors  have  done — "the  most 
valuable  and,  in  this  writer's  opinion,  the  most 
permanent  contribution  to  American  literature 
in  the  last  quarter  of  this  century" — "one  of 
the  few  creations  of  American  writers  worthy  of 
a  place  in  the  gallery  of  the  immortals/1 

Baskervill  still  hoped  from  Mr.  Harris  "a 
work  in  which  he  will  put  the  wealth  of  his 
mind  and  heart  and  expand  and  compress  into 
one  novel  the  completest  expression  of  his 
whole  being.  But  if  he  should  never  give  us  a 
masterpiece  of  fiction  like  his  beloved  'Vicar  of 
Wakefield/  'Ivanhoe,'  'Vanity  Fair/  or  'The 
Scarlet  Letter/  we  shall  still  be  forever  grate- 
ful for  the  fresh  and  beautiful  stories,  the  de- 
lightful humor,  the  genial,  manly  philosophy, 
and  the  wise  and  witty  sayings  in  which  his  writ- 
ings abound.  His  characters  have  become  world 
possessions ;  his  words  are  in  all  our  mouths. 
By  virtue  of  these  gifts  he  will  be  enrolled  in 
that  small  but  distinguished  company  of  humor- 
ists, the  immortals  of  the  heart  and  home,  whose 


20  WILLIAM    MA-LONE    BASKERVILL. 

genius,  wisdom,  and  charity  keep  fresh  and 
sweet  the  springs  of  life,  aod  Uncle  Remus  will 
live  always." 

His  personal  attitude  toward  his  work  on  the 
Southern  authors  seems  to  me  worthy  of  all 
praise.  He  used  to  write  me  in  those  days, 
"Keep  on  criticising  jny  work :  that  is  what  I 
need ;  others  will  praise  me."  I  did  criticise  him 
more  often  and  more  freely  than  I  have  ever 
criticised  any  one  else,  as  I  had  a  right  to  do, 
since  we  were  friends ;  and  I  do  not  remember 
that  my  criticism  ever  vexed  him.  It  is  pathetic 
to  me  now  to  read  again  how  he  sought  to 
justify  himself  when  I  criticised  his  over-favor- 
able or  insufficiently  appreciative  estimate  of  one 
or  other  of  the  Southern  authors,  and  how  he 
tried  to  show  that  we  were  probably,  after  all, 
not  far  apart  in  our  judgments — if  only  he  could 
have  expressed  himself  in  his  sketch  as  frankly 
and  as  freely  as  we  did  in  our  letters.  As  I  re- 
read these  "Studies"  in  the  light  of  his  letters  of 
the  period,  I  am  almost  surprised  to  note  how 
they  grow  upon  me.  His  hand  was  steadily 
learning  cunning ;  he  expressed  himself,  his  own 
ideas  more,  quoted  less  from  others  than  for- 
merly ;  was  gaining  in  felicity  of  expression,  an- 
alyzed more  subtly  and  clearly.  If  he  had  gone 


WILLIAM    MALONE    BASKERVILL.  21 

on,  he  would  clearly  have  been  thought  worthy 
to  become  the  historian  of  Southern  literature, 
and  might  well  have  aspired  to  an  even  wider 
field.  "He  improved,''  says  Dr.  Tigert,  "more 
rapidly  during  the  last  ten  years  than  any  other 
man  I  ever  knew  at  his  age.  He  studied  hard, 
wrote  and  rewrote,  so  that  I  am  confident  his 
best  work  has  been  left  undone/' 

The  insight  and  skill  displayed  in  the  "Stud- 
ies" suggested  to  Mr.  Hamilton  W.  Mabie  also 
the  idea  of  Baskervill  becoming  the  historian 
of  Southern  literature.  In  a  letter  of  March  30, 
1897,  he  wrote :  "I  have  been  very  much  inter- 
ested in  your  series  of  'Southern  Writers,'  and  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  you  were  getting  to- 
gether a  large  amount  of  valuable  literary  ma- 
terial. Have  you  had  any  thought  of  making  a 
book  of  the  chapters  when  you  have  finished 
them?  This  is  not  an  idle  question.  If  you 
have  any  such  thought,  I  should  venture  to 
make  a  suggestion  to  you.  I  should  think  with 
some  revision  and  with  an  introductory  and 
closing  chapter  you  might  make  a  history  of 
the  entire  literary  movement  in  the  South  which 
would  be  of  great  interest  and  usefulness.  Your 
treatment  of  Lanier  was  capital." 

The    Southern    writers   themselves    placed   a 


22  WILLIAM    MAJLONE    BASKERVILL. 

high  estimate  on  his  critical  work.  i4I  appre- 
ciate your  gifts  as  a  critic/'  wrote  Mr.  Harris, 
"rather  I  would  say  your  gifts  as  a  literary 
essayist,  which  include  conscience  as  well  as  the 
critical  faculty/'  Mr.  James  Lane  Allen  wrote 
him  concerning  the  "Studies :"  "I  shall  give 
them  a  slow,  critical,  absorptive  reading.  They 
interest  me  greatly,  and  I  think  represent  an 
initial  movement  toward  the  recognition,  toward 
the  appreciation  of  Southern  writers,  that  would 
mean  so  much  if  deeply  fostered.  We  scribblers 
of  little  things,  but  with  fine  intentions,  owe  you 
so  much.  I  believe  you  have  stood  almost 
alone  in  your  early  and  hardy  advocacy  of  our 
cause  and — beyond  our  deserts — of  our  place 
also.  Here's  a  New  Year's  blessing  on  you  for 
it  from  one  of  the  lesser  of  them !" 

The  work  which  Baskervill  so  well  began  is 
going  on.  This  new  volume  is  the  best  tribute 
to  his  influence  and  his  teaching  in  the  sphere 
of  literary  studies  ;  and  I  have  often  thought  how 
he  would  be  touched  could  he  know  that  other 
Southern  writers  whom  he  intended  to  com- 
memorate were  receiving  sympathetic  and  il- 
luminating treatment  from  his  old  pupils. 

CHARLES  FORSTER  SMITH, 


MARGARET  JUNKIN   PRESTON. 

FOR  assurance  of  the  fact  that  the  contribu- 
1  tion  of  women  to  the  song  of  America  has  not 
been  lacking,  one  need  only  examine  its  rep- 
resentation in  Mr.  Stedman's  "American  An- 
thology." Yet  America  has  had  no  really  great 
woman  poet.  Few  have  achieved  genuine  ex- 
cellence by  saying  "the  best  possible  thing  in 
the  best  pos'sible  way/'  and  attained  that  true 
poetic  power,  which  touches  the  heart,  as  some 
beautiful  symphony- in  music  enchants  the  ear, 
by  a  spell  which  cannot  be  defined. 

Among  "the  choir  of  minor  poets,  who 
helped  to  swell  the  chorus,"  none  is  more  wor- 
thy of  recognition  than  Mrs.  Margaret  Preston, 
the  most  notable  poetess  the  South  has  pro- 
duced, and  an  especially  significant  figure  in  its 
literary  history.  In  spite  of  the  unusual  prom- 
inence she  had  acquired,  the  dispatches  announ- 
cing her  death,  March  29,  1897,  would  indicate 
that  in  the  minds  of  many  of  the  present  gen- 
eration she  was  chiefly  associated  with  a  remote 
past.  They  refer  to  her  as  a  writer  of  war  poetry 
only,  when  really  her  best  work  was  done  long 


24  MARGARET    JUNKIN    PRESTON. 

after  the  struggle  that  inspired  these  poems  was 
over. 

Like  Timrod,  Lanier,  and  Hayne,  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton experienced  the  misfortune  of  living  in  a 
transition  period.  Realizing  the  condition  of 
things,  yet  not  without  hope  as  to  the  future, 
she  worked  on  with  bravery  and  devotion.  In 
a  letter  to  a  friend  dated  1886,  she  observes 
sadly,  but  with  true  prophetic  instinct:  "Does 
it  not  grieve  your  heart  to  see  how  little  our 
dear  South  cares  for  literature  per  sef  The 
truth  is,  our  people  do  not  care  for  home  wares. 
They  prefer  the  foreign  product.  If  more  en- 
couragement were  given  by  Southerners  to 
Southern  literature,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
but  that  there  must  be  no  small  amount  of  un- 
developed intellectual  talent  in  the  South,  which 
for  need  of  fostering  lies  wrapped  in  its  napkin ; 
but,  like  our  coal  and  iron  mines,  it  will  be  un- 
covered after  a  while,  and  then  everybody  will 
be  astonished  to  find  how  much  hidden  riches 
existed  ampng  us."  And  again :  "However,  with 
Miss  Murfree  and  a  few  ethers  to  do  her  honor, 
perhaps  she  will  yet  come  to  the  front." 

If  "to  make  men  think,  to  move  men  to  ac- 
tion, to  confer  finer  feelings  and  motives,  is  the 
power  of  the  true  poet,"  Mrs.  Preston  has  left 


MARGARET  J  UN  KIN   PRESTON.  25 

enough  published  odes,  sonnets,  ballads,  poems, 
and  hymns  to  give  evidence  of  her  inspiration.' 
Devotion  to   God,  to  her  country,  and  to  hu- 
manity permeate  all  her  works.    She  sang  of  reli- 
gion and  patriotism,  and  her  virtues  and  ideals 
were  as  high   as   those  of  any  Roman   matron. 
Not  only  had  she  strength  of  purpose,  but  she  was 
inspired  by  spiritual  aims  and  convictions.     Life 
to  her  was  beautiful  in  spite  of  everything  that 
mars  ;  for,  like  Mrs.  Browning,  she  felt 
Earth's  crammed  with  heaven, 
And  every  common  bush  afire  with  God. 

As  to  her  verse,  the  critic  will  search  in  vain 
for  false  rhythm  or  a  limping  quantity.  There 
is  always  a  happy  consonance  of  measure  and 
meaning,  always  a  thoroughly  artistic  choice  of 
meter  and  language.  Her  graces  of  fancy  do 
not  cover  hollowness.  Sympathy  and  helpful- 
ness are  in  her  voice,  thought  and  purpose  be- 
hind its  music.  Nor  does  vapid  sentimentality, 
which  describes  so  many  "lady  writers,"  apply 
to  Mrs.  Preston's  wholesome  sentiment  and 
feeling,  which  occasionally  rises  to  heights  of 
poetic  fancy  and  eloquence  of  expression.  A 
fertility  and  breadth  of  outlook  about  her  genius 
bespoke  heart  as  well  as  mind.  There  is  an 
exquisite  saying  of  the  philosopher,  one  of  those 


26  MARGARET  -IUNKIN  PRESTON. 

immortal  words  where  wit,  truth,  and  pathos 
'are  blended  in  a  phrase :  "If  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  belongs  to  the  poor  in  spirit,  the  king- 
dom of  earth  belongs  to  the  rich  in  heart."  Ad- 
mirably is  this  illustrated  in  all  the  writings  of 
Mrs.  Preston.  Her  poems,  her  book  o-f  travels, 
her  reviews,  her  private  letters — all  are  marked 
by  the  sincerity,  simplicity,  and  directness  of 
one  who  speaks  straight  from  the  heart.  Her 
.name  will  always  be  inseparably  associated  with 
the  quaint  old  town  of  Lexington,  nestled 
among  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  and  already 
rich  in  historic  memories  of  Washington  and 
Lee  and  Stonewall  Jackson.  It  was  here  for 
more  than  forty  years  she  lived  and  wrote  and 
sang  herself  into  the  hearts  and  homes  of  a 
people  which  has  revered  her  name  for  two  gen- 
erations. Indeed,  her  life  was  so  interwoven 
with  the  history,  the  memories,  the  sad  and 
thrilling  associations  of  the  Civil  War,  and  the 
tender  pathos  of  its  losses  and  sufferings,  that 
the  revelation  of  the  fact  that  she  was  not  a 
native  daughter  of  the  South  will  be  a  surprise 
to  many  people,  even  of  this  section.  Mrs. 
Preston  could  never  for  a  moment  have  been 
suspected  of  even  a  lurking  desire  to  join  what 
the  new  woman  is  nleased  to  term  "Dr.  Bush- 


MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON.  27 

nell's  vicious  phrase/'  "the  reform  against  na- 
ture." Before  she  was  twenty-one  the  poet- 
artist,  Buchanan  Read,  applied  to  her  for  bio- 
graphical facts,  and,  like  the  hundred  more  or 
less  that  followed,  was  refused.  As  in  youth  and 
high  health,  so  in  broken  health,  with  youth 
all  gone,  she  had  a  most  inveterate  prejudice 
against,  to  use  Lowell's  word,  being  "dispriva- 
cied.''  Speaking  to  a  friend  on  the  subject,  she 
said :  "We  American  women  differ  so  widely 
from  English  women.  Think  of  it !  there  has 
never  been  a  memoir  of  Elizabeth  Browning 
written  yet !"  She  was  reminded  that  the  news- 
papers of  England  are  not  the  enterprising  and 
interesting  journals  that  ours  are,  and  one  rea- 
son of  their  dullness  is  this  absence  of  pleasant 
personal  gossip.  But  her  opposition  was  not 
overcome  by  this  argument,  nor  anything  else 
that  was  said  regarding  the  right  of  the  public 
to  know  something  about  the  biographical  data, 
the  home  life,  domestic  career,  and  personality 
of  a  woman  merely  because  she  may  be  a  maker 
of  books.  "It  is  only  what  I  have  written,  not 
what  I  am,  that  readers  have  anything  to  do 
with/'  she  would  reply.  "Perhaps  I  am  pe- 
culiar, inasmuch  as  our  American  women  seem 
rather  to  have  a  craving  after  notoriety,  from 


28  MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON. 

which  I  declare  I  shrink.  With  a  man  the  thing 
is  different.  He  may  fill  the  public  gaze  as 
much  as  he  chooses ;  but  while  a  woman  is  alive 
I  do  not  think  she  ought  to.  I  don't  care  how 
much  criticism  of  what  I  have  written  is  in- 
dulged in,  but  I  do  -shrink  from  all  personalities. 
Neither  do  my  husband  and  sons  court  it  for 
me,  and  I  am  content  they  should  not.  When 
I  am  dead  people  are  privileged  to  say  what  they 
please,  but  while  I  live  I  have  a  pleasure  in  keep- 
ing my  personality  to  myself."  In  spite  of  the 
many  attempts  upon  her  life,  never  once  would 
she  succumb  to  that  particular  situation  against 
which  she  had  cultivated  the  strongest  princi- 
ples. 

Mrs.  Preston  was  of  Scottish  descent,  being 
the  great-granddaughter  of  the  "Laird  of  New- 
ton." Her  grandparents  were  married  in  Edin- 
burgh, coming  soon  after  to  Philadelphia.  Her 
father,  Dr.  George  Junkin,  was  the  son  of  a 
revolutionary  army  officer,  a  graduate  of  Jef- 
ferson College,  a  student  of  divinity  at  New 
York  City,  a  Presbyterian  minister,  and  a  well- 
known  educator  throughout  the  country.  Be- 
fore 1830  he  was  active  in  establishing  Milton 
Academy  in  his  native  State  (Pennsylvania) 
and  principal  of  the  Manual  Training  School  at 


MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON.  29 

Germantown,  and  subsequently  the  founder  and 
endower  of  Lafayette  College  at  Eaton,  Pa.,  and 
for  many  years  its  first  president;  afterwards 
president  of  the  old  Washington  College,  now 
Washington  and  Lee  University,  at  Lexington. 
Her  mother,  before  her  marriage,  was  Miss 
Julia  Rush  Miller,  of  Pennsylvania.  It  was  dur- 
ing her  father's  pastorate  of  a  Presbyterian 
Church  at  Germantown  in  the  month  of  May, 
1820,  that  Margaret  Jpnkin  Preston  was  born. 
She  was  thus  born  and  reared  amid  classic  in- 
fluences of  the  best  kind,  as  Dr.  Holmes  said 
of  himself,  "stumbled  over  books  from  baby- 
hood." One  of  her  very  earliest  memories  was 
standing  at  her  father's  knee,  when  only  a  little 
over  three  years  old,  learning  the  Hebrew  al- 
phabet. She  was  never  sent  to  school  except  as 
a  very  little  girl,  but  received  her  education  from 
her  father  and  private  instructors  at  home.  So 
enthusiastic  an  educator  was  her  father  that  at 
ten  years  of  age  he  had  the  child  reading  Latin 
with  him,  and  Greek  at  twelve.  There  are  now 
extant  unpublished  manuscripts  of  metrical  ver- 
sions of  Greek  odes  written  when  she  was  six- 
teen. Many  a  winter  morning  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  rise  at  five  o'clock  to  read  Latin  and 
Greek  with  her  father  before  breakfast,  this  be- 


30  'MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON. 

ing  the  only  time  he  could  command  for  her  out 
of  his  busy  day.  Thus  under  his  instruction  she 
was  educated  as  few  girls  of  that  day  were,  with 
all  the  classic  inspiration  that  comes  from  the 
poetry  of  the  Greeks,  and  acquiring  a  large 
knowledge  of  modern  literature  as  well.  During 
this  period  she  also  demonstrated  unusual  ar- 
tistic taste  and  abilities,  but  her  studies  in  lit- 
erature and  art  were  suddenly  and  seriously  in- 
terrupted on  account  of  disease,  which  for  seven 
continuous  years  prevented  the  use  of  her  eyes. 
The  trouble  recurred  later,  so  that  during  most 
of  her  years  of  literary  productivity  she  was 
obliged  to  depend  in  reading  and  writing  on  the 
assistance  of  others.  Her  first  and  only  novel, 
"Silverwood,"  published  in  1856,  was  a  book  of 
memories,  teaching  the  lesson  of  resignation, 
with  its  significant  epigraph,  "From  the  ses- 
sions of  sweet  silent  thought  I  summon  up  re- 
membrance." It  has  long  been  out  of  print,  and 
she  did  not  care  to  renew  the  edition.  Even 
then  her  shrinking  nature  asserted  itself  in  her 
refusal  to  permit  the  book  to  be  published  with 
her  name  attached,  although  the  publishers. of- 
fered her  one  hundred  dollars,  in  addition  to  the 
price  paid  for  the  manuscript,  if  she  would  allow 
her  name  to  appear  on  the  title-page.  Not  until 


MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON.  31 

after  her  marriage  did  the  authorship  of  the 
book  become  known.  To  name  the  books  she 
has  written  gives  nothing  like  a  proper  idea  of 
the  amount  of  work  she  accomplished.  Her 
literary  activity  dates  back  to  her  childish  years, 
when  she  became  a  contributor  to  Sartairis  and 
various  magazines  of  the  country,  and  as  a  re- 
viewer, essay  writer,  and  critic  did  more  than  in 
any  other  department,  and  for  several  years  after 
the  war  helped  to  edit  the  literary  columns  of 
half  a  dozen  magazines  and  newspapers ;  always 
gratis  and  without  signature,  doing  this  kind  of 
work,  as  she  said,  "in  order  to  help  forward  in 
my  small  way  the  interest  of  Southern  litera- 
ture. But  it  has  been  at  the  expense  of  my  eye- 
sight, and,  while  not  blind  at  all,  and  trusting 
through  the  mercy  of  God  never  to  be,  yet  1 
have  done  all  my  literary  work  under  great  em- 
barrassment, not  being  able  to  use  my  eyes  for 
reading,  writing,  proof  correction,  or  anything. 
I  do  not  mention  this  in  order  that  abatement 
should  be  made  as  to  the  quality  of  my  writing, 
I  am  sure.  But  my  poor  English  friend,  Philip 
Marston,  never  alluded  in  any  of  his  books  to  his 
blindness,  nor  was  willing  to  accept  any  abate- 
ment therefor ;  I  ought  to  remember  this." 

In  1848  she  removed  with  her  father  to  Lex- 


32  MARGARET  JUNKIN   PRESTON. 

ington.  Here  in  1857  she  was  married  to  Col. 
John  T.  Preston,  the  founder  of  the  Virginia 
Military  Institute,  and  an  able  writer,  in  whom 
she  had  a  companion  in  thorough  sympathy  with 
her  literary  tastes,  and  whose  encouragement 
prompted  her  best  efforts.  One  sister,  Elinor 
Junkin,  was  the  first  wife  of  Stonewall  Jackson, 
and  to  another  fell  the  honor  of  providing  a 
home  for  Gen.  Robert  E.  Lee  at  the  close  of  the 
war.  Her  own  home,  a  substantial  red  brick 
residence,  surrounded  by  grand  old  trees,  and  the 
abode  of  elegance  and  comfort,  was  situated  in 
a  retired  part  of  the  town.  Here  in  the  large 
square  parlor,  with  its  broad  fireplaces,  lofty 
ceilings,  and  generous  bay  windows,  looking 
out  over  a  beautiful  landscape,  commanding  a 
view  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  in  the  library,  with 
its  several  thousand  volumes  and  portraits  of 
Stonewall  Jackson  and  Bryant  and  Longfellow 
and  Holmes  and  Lowell,  the  colonel  and  his 
wife,  a  lovely  woman — lovely  in  face,  character, 
and  household  surroundings  (and  of  all  her 
charms  none  more  distinguished  than  her  low, 
sweet  voice,  modulated  to  suit  a  disposition 
quiet  and  retiring) — gathered  about  them  a  cir- 
cle of  delightful  and  cultivated  people,  and  dis- 
pensed hospitality  in  the  kindly  and  generous 


MARGARET  JUNKlN  PRESTON.  33 

fashion  of  Virginians  "to  the  manner  born ;"  for 
with  her  literature  was  not  a  vocation,  simply 
an  avocation — 

Cloistered  thought, 

Hours  winnowed  of  care,  soft-cultured,  studious  ease, 
Days  hedged  from  interruption,  and  withdrawn 
Inviolate  from  household  exigence, 
Are  not  for  women,  and  least  for  wives  and  mothers. 

"Pray  remember/'  she  wrote,  "that  I  have 
never  given  myself  up  as  most  women  do  who 
have  made  any  name  for  themselves  in  litera- 
ture. It  has  only  been  my  pastime,  not  the  oc- 
cupation or  mission  of  my  life,  which  has  been 
too  busy  a  one  with  the  duties  of  wifehood, 
motherhood,  mistress,  hostess,  neighbor,  and 
friend.  Only  when  the  demands  which  these 
relations  entailed  were  satisfied  did  I  turn  to  my 
pen.  I  think  I  can  truly  say  that  I  never  neg- 
lected the  concocting  of  a  pudding  for  the  sake 
of  a  poem,  or  a  sauce  for  a  sonnet.  Art  is  a 
jealous  mistress,  and  I  have  served  her  with  my 
left  hand  only ;  and  because  I  have  given  my  right 
hand  to  what  seemed  more  pressing  and  im- 
portant, I  feel  quite  sure  that  I  have  never  ac- 
complished what  I  might  have  done  if  I  had  con- 
centrated whatever  was  in  me  upon  the  art 
which,  after  all,  was  my  chief  delight."  Like 
3 


34  MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON. 

her  own  "Francesca,"  "with  no  undertones  of 
secret  fret/'  she  gave  to  "husband,  children, 
friends,  and  the  poor  and  sick  service  un- 
grudged,"  teaching 

The  lesson,  thumbed  so  oft  that  we  must  look 

About  our  feet  for  fit  material 

Wherewith  to  mold  high  theme : 

That  the  strait  life 

Hemming  us  round  has  rich  suggestiveness. 

"Beechenbrook,"  published  during  the  prog- 
ress of  the  Civil  War,  and  dedicated  to  every 
Southern  woman  who  had  been  widowed  by  the 
war,  "as  a  faint  memorial  of  sufferings  of  which 
there  can  be  no  forgetfulness,"  was  a  rhymed 
story  of  about  thirteen  hundred  lines,  in  the 
same  measure  employed  by  Meredith  in  "Lu- 
cile."  It  was  hurriedly  written  in  the  evenings 
of  one  week,  by  firelight,  because  no  lamps  were 
to  be  had ;  and  rushed  through  the  press  in  time 
for  the  perusal  of  Lee's  soldiers,  it  proved  to  be 
Mrs.  Preston's  most  popular  book,  and  quickly 
ran  through  nine  editions.  It  was  not  a  song 
of  consolation,  but  a  picture  portraying  the 
hero  from  his  enlistment  through  all  the  cruel 
experiences  of  war,  reaching  a  climax  in  the 
wail : 


MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON.  35 

Break,  my  heart,  and  ease  this  pain ; 
Cease  to  throb,  thou  tortured  brain ; 
Let  me  die,  since  he  is  slain, 
Slain  in  battle ! 

Blessed  brow,  that  loved  to  rest 
Its  dear  whiteness  on  my  breast! 
Gory  was  the  grass  it  prest : 
Slain  in  battle ! 

O,  that  still  and  stately  form — 
Nevermore  will  it  be  warm ; 
Chilled  beneath  that  iron  storm; 
Slain  in  battle ! 

Not  a  pillow  for  his  head ; 
Not  a  hand  to  soothe  his  bed; 
Not  one  tender  parting  said; 
Slain  in  battle ! 

Thus  she  touched  a  key  of  sorrow  beyond  tears, 
of  tragic,  heart-rending  anguish,  in  behalf  of  a 
cause  for  which  she  had  the  most  passionate 
sympathy.  The  force  of  contemporary  feeling 
poured  forth  in  this  poem,  which  was  the  secret 
of  its  power,  is  naturally  rather  to  its  disadvan- 
tage now,  when  all  those  agitations  are  happily 
past.  Mrs.  Preston  herself  realized  this  when 
she  said:  "It  was  popular  on  account  of  the 
theme,  and  I  do  not  think  it  at  all  deserves  to  be 
called  a  work  of  art." 

Her  first  book  of  poems  appeared  in  1870 


3^  MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON. 

a  large  volume  comprising  legends  from  He- 
brew and  from  Greek  story,  and  other  verse — 
sonnets  and  religious  pieces.  These  poems  sug- 
gest a  delicate  sense  of  poetic  taste — a  sympathy 
for  the  antique — the  classicism  that  has  so  re- 
fined and  chastened  the  beauty  of  her  verse, 
though  limited  the  number  of  her  readers- 
while  the  spirit  of  deep  devotion  which  they  re- 
veal strikes  at  once  the  keynote  of  her  later 
work. 

It  is  in  the  reading  of  "Cartoons/'  sketches 
from  the  life  and  work  of  the  old  masters,  pub- 
lished in  1875,  that  we  feel  that,  had  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton not  been  a  poet,  she  must  have  been  an  art- 
ist. Her  insight  into  the  lives  of  the  Italian 
masters  is  subtle,  as  the  portrayal  of  their  lives 
is  vivid  and  dramatic.  In  "Mona  Lisa"  she 
evinces  the  true  artistic  temperament  in  Da 
Vinci's  answer  to  Giacomo's  assertion  that  the 
picture  of  Mona  Lisa  is  finished. 

Done  ?    Nothing  that  my  pencil  ever  touches 

Is  wholly  done.    There's  some  evasive  grace 

Always  beyond,  whkh  still  I  fail  to  reach, 

As  heretofore  I've  failed  to  hold  and  fix 

Your  Mona  Lisa's  changeful  loveliness. 

Why,  think  of  it,  my  lord.     Here's  Nature's  self 

Has  patient  wrought  these  two  and  twenty  years, 

With  subtlest  transmutations,  making  her 

Your  pride,  the  pride  of  Florence,  and — my  despair  I 


MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON.  37 

Jean  Ingelow  pronounced  her  poem,  "The 
Childhood  of  the  Old  Masters,"  unlike  in  all 
respects  to  what  any  one  else  had  done  in  poetry, 
"A  most  truly  original  poem,"  she  called  it.  In 
1886  appeared  the  little  volume  "For  Love's 
Sake" — "poems  of  faith  and  comfort."  "Colo- 
nial Ballads/'  published  in  1887,  was  not  a  com- 
pilation, but  a  volume  of  fresh  poems — a  collec- 
tion of  ballads  treating  of  early  colonial  tradi- 
tions and  incidents,  which  have  ring,  rhythm, 
imagination,  and  force,  and  came  very  near  the 
ideal,  without  actually  touching  it — and  groups 
of  sonnets  on  such  diversified  subjects  as  old 
English  churches,  the  genius  of  Philip  Bourke 
Marston,  Mendelsshon,  Haydn,  Bayard  Taylor, 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  abstract  ideas,  as 
"Art's  Limitations,"  "Horizons,"  and  "Human 
Providence,"  showing  the  wide  range  of  her 
sympathy  and  taste,  and  the  variety  of  moods 
that  characterize  the  inborn  poet. 

Mrs.  Preston  cultivated  for  many  years  an  ex- 
tensive literary  correspondence  with  many  fa- 
mous people.  "Lying  on  her  table,"  observes  a 
friend,  "one  saw  letters  and  photographs  from 
Browning,  Tennyson,  Longfellow,  Christina 
Rossetti,"  delicately  disclosing  her  friendships 
with  these  and  others  of  her  celebrated  con- 


3#  MARGARET   JUNKIN    PRESTON. 

temporaries.  Her  firm  friend  Paul  Hamilton 
Hayne  regarded  her  as  one  of  the  best  writers 
of  sonnets  in  America.  Their  exquisite  rich- 
ness accurately  portrays  the  softer,  tenderer,  or 
lesser  emotions,  as  the  case  may  be.  One  which 
she  herself  liked  best  of  her  own  works  was 
:  "Sit  Jessica :" 

As  there  she  stood,  that  sweet  Venetian  night, 

Her  pure  face  lifted  to  the  skies,  aswim 

With  stars  from  zenith  to  horizon's  rim, 

I  think  Lorenzo  scarcely  saw  the  light 

Asleep  upon  the  banks,  or  felt  how  bright 

The  patines  were.    She  filled  the  heaven  for  him ; 

And  in  her  low  replies  the  cherubim 

Seemed  softly  quiring  from  some  holy  height. 

And  when  he  drew  her  down  and  soothed  her  tears, 

Stirred  by  the  minstrelsy,  with  passionate  kiss, 

Whose  long,  sweet  iterations  left  her  lips 

Trembling,  as  roses  tremble  after  sips 

Of  eager  bees,  the  music  of  the  spheres 

Held  not  one  rhythmic  rapture  like  to  this. 

An  unusual  faculty  of  outlining  character  is 
shown  in  the  sonnet  entitled  "Hawthorne."  Of 
all  the  estimates  of  the  wonderful  romancer, 
none  shows  keener  insight  or  deeper  apprecia- 
tion than  this  short  poem  of  fourteen  lines : 

He  stood  apart — but  as  a  mountain  stands 
In  isolate  repose  above  the  plain, 


MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON.  39 

Robed  in  no  pride  of  aspect,  no  disdain, 

Though  clothed  with  power  to  steep  the  sunniest  lands 

In  mystic  shadow.    At  the  mood's  demands, 

Himself  he  clouded,  till  no  eye  could  gain 

The  vanished  peak,  no  more,  with  sense  astrain 

Than  trace  a  footprint  on  the  surf-washed  sands. 

Yet  hidden  within  that  sequestered  height, 

Imperially  lonely,  what  a  world 

Of  splendor  lay  !    What  pathless  realms  untrod  ! 

What  rush  and  wreck  of  passion !    What  delight 

Of  woodland  sweets !     What  weird  winds,   phantom 

whirled ! 
And  over  all  the  immaculate  sky  of  God ! 

The  result  of  her  journeyings  in  Europe  was 
"A  Handful  of  Monographs,"  an  entertaining 
account  of  her  rambles  in  many  picturesque 
places.  These  brief  impressions  of  novel  scenes 
and  new  countries  are  the  visit  of  a  poet  to  a 
poetic  land.  "In  the  Track  of  the  Golden  Leg- 
end" she  experiences  the  journey  of  Prince 
Henry  and  Elsie  from  Odenwald  to  the  St. 
Gothard  Pass,  and  is  constantly  haunted  by  the 
memory  of  those  mediaeval  pilgrims  on  their  way 
to  the  land  of  the  Madonna.  She  is  "lifted  into 
a  condition  of  exalted  poetic  feeling"  by  the  rare 
glories  of  Chamouni.  Standing  in  the  low  dun- 
geon, with  its  seven  historical  pillars,  under  the 
too  overwhelming  rush  of  thought  and  emo- 
tion she  wonders  "that  Byron,  with  all  his  power 


4<>  MARGARET   fUNKIN    PRESTON1. 

and  pathos,  had  not  infused  with  an  even  deep- 
er indignation  and  more  shuddering  thrill  the 
story  of  Bonnivard's  captivity/'  Coppee  has  far 
tenderer  associations.  Here  she  likes  to  fancy 
she  can  see  the  brilliant  Corinne,  behind  the 
grim  brick  walls  of  the  lawn ;  Chateaubriand,  or 
Benjamin  Constant,  or  Ampere,  or  Madame  Re- 
camier,  on  the  garden  seat  beside  her.  In  War- 
wickshire, in  the  heart  of  England,  in  an  old 
Tudor  mansion  wainscoted  with  black  oak,  and 
rich  in  secret  stairways  and  dark  closets,  she 
finds  her  friends  the  Kingsleys.  With  pilgrim 
reverence  she  turns  aside  to  do  homage  to  "the 
widest-natured  man  that  ever  lived,"  and  with  a 
sort  of  wonder  and  awe  stands  under  the  lowly 
roof,  in  the  room  at  Stratford-on-Avon  where  he 
first  drew  his  breath.  Passing  the  cottage  where 
Mrs.  Hemans  once  dwelt,  from  Ambleside  to 
Rydalmount,  everything  recalls  Wordsworth. 
She  delights  "In  the  Haunts  of  Sir  Walter"— 
hunts  out  Cripplegate  Church,  where  Milton  lies 
buried,  and  the  Charter  House,  where  she  may 
meet  Col.  Newcome  on  his  daily  constitutional, 
or  hear  him  whisper  "<ad  sum."  She  visits  Greta 
Hall,  and  attends  service  in  Crossth-waith  Church, 
where  Southey  is  buried.  A  glimpse  of  the  "Blue 
Coat  Boys''  awakens  recollections  of  Charles 


MARGARET   JUNKTN    PRESTON.  41 

Lamb  and  Coleridge.  With  keen  interest  she 
wanders  among  the  blackened  cloisters  of  Christ 
Church  Hospital,  where  "every  inch  of  ground 
is  instinct  with  memories  that  form  the  warp  and 
woof  of  our  later  English  literature."  Finally 
turning  up  at  52  Wimpole  Street,  "where  the 
first  woman  poet  England,  or  perhaps  the  world, 
has  produced  lived  so  long." 

Within  the  later  years  of  her  life,  the  qualities 
of  humanity  and  spiritual  insight  deepened  and 
found  expression  almost  exclusively  in  poems  of 
religion.  What  beauty  was  to  Poe,  religious 
exaltation  was  to  Mrs.  Preston.  Her  heart 
thrilled  with  fervor  and  enthusiasm,  and  out 
of  the  depths  of  a  soul  enriched  by  large  experi- 
ence, she  spoke  to  the  lives  of  thousands,  in  lines 
tender  and  strong,  full  of  heartfelt  emotion  and 
genuine  piety.  Her  trust  in  God,  complete  sub- 
mission, and  unresisting  resignation  throb 
through  every  line  of  such  poems  as  "Com- 
forted," "Evensong,"  and  "Chiselwork :" 

Tis  the  master  who  holds  the  mallet, 

And  day  by  day 
He  is  chipping  whatever  environs 

The  form  away, 
Which  under  his  skillful  cutting 

He  means  shall  be 
Wrought  silently  out  to  beauty 


,42  MARGARET  -JUNKIN    PRESTON1. 

Of  such  degree 
Of  faultless  and  full  perfection 

That  angel  eyes 
Shall  look  on  the  finished  labor 

With  new  surprise 
That  even  his  boundless  patience 

Could  grave  his  own 
.    Features  upon  such  fractured 

And  stubborn  stone. 

With  tools  of  thy  choosing,  master, 

We  pray  thee,  then, 
Strike  just  as  thou  wilt;  as  often, 

And  where  and  when 
The  vehement  stroke  is  needed. 

We  will  not  mind, 
If  only  thy  chipping  chisel 

Shall  leave  behind 
Such  marks  of  thy  wondrous  working 

And  loving  skill, 
Clear  carven  on  aspect,  stature, 

And  face,  as  will, 
When  discipline's  ends  are  over, 

Have  all  sufficed 
To  mold  us  into  the  likeness 

And  form  of  Christ. 

It  is  poems  like  these  inspired  by  pure  reli- 
gious sentiment,  some  of  the  sonnets,  and  lyrics 
of  such  beauty  and  feeling  as,  "There'll  Come  a 
Day/'  "A  Litany  of  Pain,"  "In  the  Hereafter," 
"A  Vision  of  Snow,"  'The  Hero  of  the  Com- 


MARGARET   JUNKIN    PRESTON1.  43 

mune,"  "A  Grave  in  Hollywood  Cemetery,"  and 
the  lines  on  one  lately  lost  entitled,  "A  Year  in 
Heaven,"  "Left  Behind,"  that  betoken  the  true 
poetic  instinct,  rather  than  her  more  ambitious 
efforts,  in  which,  however  rich  in  color  and  vig- 
orous in  style,  a  tendency  to  didacticism  is  too 
often  apparent. 

Though  not  lacking  in  flashes  of  wit  and 
satire,  yet  mostly  serious  and  deeply  reflective, 
her  poetry  is  devoid  of  that  great  quality  of  hu- 
mor ;  but  by  nature  an  optimist,  there  is  not  to 
be  found  in  all  her  writings  a  complaining  or  a 
gloomy  note.  With  a  few  exceptions,  such  as  the 
musical  poem  on  "Petrarch  and  Laura,"  or  the 
well-wTorded  appeal,  "Before  Death" — 

What  use  for  the  rope,  if  it  be  not  flung 

Till  the  swimmer's  grasp  to  the  rock  has  clung? 

What  help  in  a  comrade's  bugle  blast 

When  the  peril  of  Alpine  heights  is  past? 

What  need  that  the  spurring  paean  roll 

When  the  runner  is  safe  beyond  the  goal  ? 

What  worth  is  eulogy's  blandest  breath 

If  whispered  in  ears  that  are  hushed  in  death? 

No !  no !  if  you  have  but  a  word  of  cheer, 

Speak  it  while  I  am  alive  to  hear ! — 

rarely  does  she  catch  the  popular  ear,  but  ap- 
peals rather  to  the  refined,  cultured,  trained 
lover  of  books. 


44  MARGARET -JUNKIN    PRESTON1. 

Mrs.  Preston  is  described  as  "a  frail,  delicate 
little  woman  with  refined,  irregular  features 
overshadowed  by  a  wealth  of  auburn  hair,  a 
chronic  invalid  whose  indomitable  cheerfulness 
shone  like  sunlight  behind  the  almost  translucent 
screen  of  ailing  flesh/'  "No  one  could  come  in 
contact  with  this  bright,  spiritual  creature,"  con- 
tinues her  near  neighbor  and  lifelong  friend,  Dr. 
James  A.  Harrison,  "without  feeling  a  benign 
influence." 

A  woman  of  exquisite  sensibilities,  whose  per- 
sonality is  felt  in  every  line,  her  purity  and 
sweetness  will  always  be  admired  by  those  who 
are  attracted  by  delicate  feeling,  fastidiousness 
of  taste,  and  lofty  ideals.  In  her  last  poem, 
"Euthanasia,"  her  faith,  always  strong,  softened 
into  childlike  confidence,  finds  full  and  free  ex- 
pression : 

With  the  faces  the  dearest  in  sight, 
With  a  kiss  on  the  lips  I  love  best, 

To  whisper  a  tender  "good-night," 
And  pass  to  my  pillow  of  rest. 

To  kneel,  all  my  service  complete, 
All  duties  accomplished,  and  then 

To  finish  my  orisons  sweet 
With  a  trustful  and  joyous  "Amen." 


MARGARET   JUNKIN    PRESTON,  45 

Without  a  farewell  or  a  tear, 

A  sob  or  a  flutter  of  breath ; 
Unharmed  by  the  phantom  of  Fear, 

To  glide  through  the  darkness  of  death ! 

Just  so  would  I  choose  to  depart, 

Just  so  let  the  summons  be  given ; 
A  quiver — a  pause  of  the  heart — 

A  vision  of  angels — then  heaven. 

JANIE  MCTYEIRE  BASKERVILL. 


RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

BY   WILLIAM    A.    WEBB. 

IN  1822,  the  year  of  Col.  Johnston's  birth, 
American  literature  was  just  passing  from  in- 
fancy into  the  first  stages  of  vigorous  youth.  In 
this  year,  Washington  Irving,  who  had  definitely 
entered  upon  his  career  as  a  professional  man 
of  letters  two  years  before  by  publishing  his 
''Sketch  Book,"  brought  out  "Bracebridge 
Hall."  In  the  preceding  year,  Bryant  had  is- 
sued his  first  volume  of  "Poems,"  a  pamphlet  of 
forty-four  pages,  and  Cooper  had  published  his 
first  historical  romance,  "The  Spy."  Emerson 
had  but  recently  been  graduated  from  Harvard; 
Longfellow  and  Hawthorne  were  Sophomores 
at  Bowdoin;  Whittier,  a  "barefoot  boy,  with 
cheek  of  tan,"  was  doing  chores  and  reading 
Burns  and  the  Bible  in  his  Quaker  home ;  while 
the  future  "Autocrat"  was  conjugating  Latin 
verbs  at  Phillips  Academy,  Andover ;  and  Poe,  a 
willful  child  of  thirteen,  was  being  petted  and 
spoiled  in  Richmond.  Lowell  was  still  in  kilts 
in  Cambridge. 

If  we  turn  our  attention  more  specifically  to 
Southern  writers,  we  note  that  Frank  O.  Tick- 
(46) 


RICHARD   'MAJLCOLM   JOHNSTON1.  47 

nor,  the  author  of  "Little  Giffen,"  one  of  the 
finest  narrative  poems  produced  by  the  war  on 
either  side,  was  born  in  the  same  year  as  John- 
ston. Of  the  three  greater  poets,  Timrod, 
Hayne,  and  Lanier,  whose  lives  are  intimately 
associated  with  the  tragic  events  of  the  Civil 
War  and  the  period  immediately  following, 
Johnston  was  seven  years  older  than  the  first, 
eight  years  older  than  the  second,  and  twenty 
years  older  than  the  third.  For  almost  half  a 
century  he  was  a  contemporary  of  William  Gil- 
more  Simms,  John  Pendleton  Kennedy,  and 
Judge  A.  B.  Longstreet,  all  three  of  whom 
passed  away  in  1870,  although  their  literary  work 
ended  before  the  outbreak  of  the  war.  Accord- 
ing to  the  almanac,  therefore,  Richard  Malcolm 
Johnston  clearly  belongs  to  the  Old  South,  to 
the  days  of  Po-e,  Simms,  Hayne,  and  Timrod. 
But  to  the  magazine  readers  of  twenty-five  years 
ago  who  began  to  watch  with  delight  for  his 
inimitable  -stories  of  Georgia  life,  his  name  was 
associated  with  the  names  of  Thomas  Nelson 
Page,  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  Maurice  Thompson, 
George  W.  Cable,  and  "Charles  Egbert  Crad- 
dock,"  and  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  worthy 
member  of  the  new  school  of  writers,  who  were 
depicting  with  power  and  skill  the  rich  romantic 


48  RJCHA.RD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON1. 

life  of  the  South.  In  this  case  the  almanac  was 
wrong  and  the  magazine  readers  were  right ;  for, 
though  Col.  Johnston  was  old  enough  to  be  the 
father  of  any  one  of  these  writers,  his  humor 
was  as  fresh,  his  fancy  as  light,  and  his  pen  as 
ready  as  that  of  the  youngest  of  them.  He  was 
nearly  sixty  years  old  when  he  took  up  litera- 
ture as  a  profession,  yet  his  stories  are  marked 
by  the  lightness  of  touch  and  the  buoyancy  of 
spirit  that  characterize  the  works  of  the  authors 
named  above. 

As  partial  compensation  for  his  late  start  in 
his  literary  career  he  had  the  good  fortune  to 
escape  the  infirmities  of  old  age.  He  apparently 
defied  the  ravages  of  time,  and  continued  to  the 
last  to  produce  stories  of  remarkable  force  and 
vigor.  In  the  opinion  of  many  of  his  friends,  at 
home  and  abroad,  his  latest  collection  of  stories, 
though  issued  in  his  seventy-fifth  year,  "is  the 
best  of  all  his  volumes — the  tenderest,  the 
quaintest,  and  the  most  zestful  in  temper  and  ex- 
ecution." "It  was,"  as  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman  says, 
"as  if  an  orchard  tree  of  fine  old-fashioned  stock 
had  borne  no  fruit  until  well  past  its  noon  of 
life;  and  then,  in  full  vigor,  had  suddenly  and 
joyously  yielded  a  wealth  of  apples,  as  mel- 
low as  pippins,  and  with  the  tang  of  Roxbury 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  49 

russets,  which  are  all  the  better  for  being  long 
kept."  1 

Col.  Johnston's  grandfather,  the  son  of  an 
Episcopal  clergyman  who  had  come  originally 
from  Scotland,  was  a  Virginia  planter.  After 
serving  through  the  Revolutionary  War,  he  re- 
moved with  his  family  to  Georgia,  and  settled 
near  Powelton,  in  Hancock  County,  in  1799. 
His  son  Malcolm  married  Catherine  Davenport, 
whose  father  had  been  killed  at  the  battle  of 
Guilford  Courthouse,  and  to  these  parents  was 
born  in  1822  Richard  Malcolm  Johnston,  the 
subject  of  this  sketch. 

Of  his  father  Col.  Johnston  tells  us  that  he  was 
an  active,  robust  man  who,  in  spite  of  his  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  took  great  delight  in 
all  kinds  of  outdoor  exercises.  True  to  his  Vir- 
ginia ancestry,  he  was  especially  fond  of  fox- 
hunting; he  was  a  leader  in  the  country  dances, 
and  was  not  at  all  averse  to  a  bowl  of  toddy  or 
an  occasional  game  of  poker,  especially  after  the 
business  of  the  county  court  of  which  he  was  a 
member  had  been  disposed  of.  When  he  was 
about  thirty-five  he  made  a  radical  change  in  his 
manner  of  life,  and,  as  there  was  no  Episcopal 

1  "  Publications  of  the  Southern  History  Association" 
for  October,  1898. 
4 


50  RICHARD   MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

Church  in  the  neighborhood,  he  united  with  the 
Baptist  Church.  Later  he  became  a  minister  of 
that  denomination,  though,  like  many  other 
planter-preachers  of  the  State,  he  did  not  accept 
money  for  his  services.  He  at  once  gave  up 
those  practices,  which  his  denomination  con- 
demned, and  the  home  life  of  young  Johnston 
was  characterized  by  the  sternest  discipline  tem- 
pered with  the  kindest  affection.  "We  children 
were  an  ardent  set,  and  our  parents  punished 
our  oft  offendings  with  switches  pulled  from  the 
peach  tree.  But  afterwards  we  were  not  sub- 
jected to  everlasting  talkings  about  it.  Instead, 
a  reasonable  healthy  flagellation  satisfied  every 
demand,  and  we  began  with  restored  love  and 
confidence  upon  a  new  career.  .  .  .  Even  delega- 
ted authority  was  rigidly  ratified  there.  Punish- 
ments at  school  were  not  reported,  as  we  foresaw 
that  they  were  most  likely  to  be  approved  without 
inquiries  as  to  the.  merit  of  their  infliction.  When 
night  came  a  chapter  was  read,  a  hymn  sung, 
a  prayer  said,  and  by  nine  o'clock  everybody  was 
in  bed  and  soon  afterwards  asleep.  The  next 
morning's  newly  risen  sun  would  find  all,  old  and 
young,  awake  and  preparing  for  the  work  of  the 
new  day." 1  The  Sabbaths  were  strictly  ob- 

1  *  'Autobiography. " 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON1.  51 

served  with  much  reading  of  the  Bible  and  "Pil- 
grim's Progress."  The  children  were  not  al- 
lowed to  go  off  the  premises  except  on  the 
monthly  meeting  days  when  all  the  family  went 
to  church. 

Dropping  into  reminiscent  mood,  Col.  John- 
ston, in  "Puss  Tanner's  Defense,"  one  of  the 
"Dukesborough  Tales,"  says :  "Dear  beyond 
the  power  of  expression,  to  him  who  remem- 
bers them  as  a  child,  those  country  Sunday 
meeting  days  of  that  Georgia  foretime.  The 
child,  sitting  with  his  mother  on  the  women's 
side  of  the  long  aisle,  too  young  to  listen,  or 
be  expected  to  listen,  to  the  sermon,  not  deep 
but  of  unction,  alternately  upright  and  reclining, 
would  hear  with  strong  and  strange  delight  the 
songs  of  those  thousand  voices  within,  the  myr- 
iads of  birds  outside,  even  the  whinnyings  of 
the  colts  and  their  dams  in  the  graveyard  grove 
too  distant  to  be  disturbant  of  the  services. 
Sweeter  yet  than  these  were  the  odors,  never 
in  adult  time  to  be  reproduced,  or  equaled,  or 
approximated,  that  were  wafted  by  turkey  tails 
and  hawks'  wings  from  Sunday  frocks  that,  since 
last  meeting  day,  had  lain  in  chests  amid  rose 
leaves  and  lavender  and  thyme.  In  his  young 
imagination,  henceforth  ever  inseparable,  these 


52  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

odors  blended  with  and  became  a  part  of  the 
worship  of  the  Creator/' 

At  an  early  age  he  was  sent  to  the  "old  field 
school/'  and  was  introduced  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  three  R's  by  methods  wholly  discredited 
now  but  very  effective  in  the  good  old  days  of 
long  ago.  When  the  history  of  education  in  the 
South  before  the  war  shall  be  written  up,  his 
reminiscences  as  recorded  in  the  series  of  stories 
devoted  to  school  life  will  prove  invaluable.  No- 
where has  the  "old  field  school"  been  so  faith- 
fully described  as  in  his  writings.  To  the  reader 
of  "The  Goose  Pond  School/'  and  of  "How  Mr. 
Bill  Williams  Took  the  Responsibility,"  it  will 
hardly  be  necessary  to  say  that  these  stories  are 
based  on  the  recollections  of  his  school  experi- 
ences. The  accuracy  of  delineation,  the  warmth 
of  color,  the  strength  of  portrayal,  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  humor  all  stamp  these  productions  as 
genuine  transcripts  from  real  life.  The  charac- 
ter of  Israel  Meadows  may  have  been  over- 
drawn, and  yet  his  prototype  gave  little  Mal- 
colm, then  less  than  seven  years  of  age,  at  least 
one  whipping  a  day,  and  made  use  of  both  the 
"circus"  and  the  "horses"  in  the  infliction  of 
corporal  punishment. 

Later    the   familv   removed   to   Powelton    for 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  53 

the  sake  of  obtaining  better  school  facilities  for 
the  children.  Here  he  came  under  the  influence 
of  a  refined  and  cultured  teacher,  and  made  rapid 
progress  in  Latin  and  Greek.  This  gentleman 
was  a  native  of  Vermont,  and  Col.  Johnston  has 
paid  the  debt  oj  gratitude  due  him  in  the  por- 
trait of  Lucius  Woodbridge  in  "Old  Mark 
Langston."  It  was  the  charming  assistant  teach- 
er in  this  school  who  first  invoked  the  gentle 
passion  in  the  breast  of  our  thirteen-year-old 
student,  and  afterwards  served  as  the  model  for 
Miss  Wilkins  in  "The  Early  Majority  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Watts."  Fortunately  for  our  young 
friend,  he  managed  to  conceal  his  state  of  feel- 
ings, not  only  from  the  young  lady  in  question 
but  from  every  one  else  as  well,  and  thereby  es- 
caped the  dire  calamity  which  overtook  Mr. 
Watts  in  the  memorable  interview  with  his 
mother  after  the  older  sister  had  betrayed  his 
secret. 

The  next  teacher  installed  in  Powelton  Acad- 
emy had  been  a  student  at  the  University  of 
Virginia,  and  was  the  first  well-educated  Geor- 
gian, Col.  Johnston  thinks,  to  keep  school  in 
that  region.  He  appears  as  George  Overton  in 
"Old  Friends  and  New." 

As  already  intimated,  his  stories  throw  much 


54  RICHARD   MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

light  on  questions  pertaining  to  the  intellectual 
and  social  development  of  the  South.  One  sees 
what  a  strong  hold  law  and  politics  had  upon  the 
bright  young  men  of  this  section  of  the  country. 
Few  Southerners  of  social  position  and  educa- 
tional advantages  cared  to  teach ;  and  none,  with 
a  brilliant  exception  here  and  there,  entered 
the  profession  of  letters.  The  law  was  the  only 
avenue  that  led  to  political  preferment  and  so- 
cial distinction,  and  its  ranks  were  naturally  re- 
cruited from  the  most  ambitious  young  men  of 
the  State.  This  condition  of  affairs  helps  us  to 
understand  why  the  South  lagged  so  far  behind 
the  North  in  literature  before  the  war.  "Lit- 
erature," says  Thomas  Nelson  Page,1  "stood  no 
chance  because  the  ambition  of  young  men  of 
the  South  was  universally  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  political  distinction,  and  because  the 
monopoly  of  advancement  held  by  the  profes- 
sion of  the  law  was  too  well  established  and  too 
clearly  recognized  to  admit  of  its  claim  being 
contested." 

For  the  purpose  of  developing  a  rather  deli- 
cate constitution,  his  father  wisely  retained  him 
at  home  for  a  year.    Four  days  of  the  week  were 
devoted  to  hard  labor  on  the  farm  with  the  ne- 
111  The  Old  South, "p.  67. 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  55 

groes,  while  two  days  were  given  over  to  gun 
and  dogs.  It  is  needless  to  say  which  part  of 
the  week  he  looked  forward  to  with  the  most 
pleasure.  He  entered  the  Sophomore  class  of 
Mercer  University,  and  was  graduated  in  1841. 
He  taught  school  for  two  years,  and  then  began 
practicing  law.  During  the  next  few  years  he 
divided  his  time  between  these  two  professions 
until  he  formed  a  law  partnership  with  the 
younger  brother  of  Alex.  H.  Stephens.  In  1844 
he  was  married  to  Miss  Frances  Mansfield,  of 
Hancock  County,  who  was  then  fifteen  years  of 
age.  A  long  and  happy  wedded  life  proved  the 
wisdom  of  his  choice.  'The  fine  old  lady,"  says 
Dr.  Charles  Forster  Smith,  "whom  I  met  re- 
cently in  her  own  home,  might  very  well  have 
been  the  original  of  the  Lucy  Parkinson  whom 
George  Overton  marries  in  'Old  Friends  and 
New.' '  He  made  rapid  progress  in  his  profes- 
sion, and  in  1857,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  he  was 
on  the  point  of  being  promoted  to  the  bench 
when  certain  events  took  place  which  changed 
the  current  of  his  life. 

During  these  sixteen  years  of  busy  life  as 
teacher  and  lawyer  he  was  unconsciously  gath- 
ering material  which  should  stand  him  in  good 
stead  in  after  years.  Mr.  Charles  W.  Coleman, 


56  RICHARD   'MALCOLM   JOHNSTON. 

Jr.,  in  Harpers  Magazine  for  May,  1887,  saYs  : 
"During  his  career  as  a  lawyer,  practicing  in  five 
or  six  adjoining  counties,  much  of  his  time  was 
passed  at  county-seat  taverns,  where  numbers 
of  lawyers  would  gather  together  and  relate 
their  observations  of  cracker  life,  their  per- 
sonal experiences  among  the  countrymen  of 
Middle  Georgia,  courthouse  scenes,  and  the 
like.  These  tavern  stories,  together  with  his 
own  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  people  in  the 
old  field  schools,  and  as  a  lawyer,  supplied  a  rich 
mine  of  matter  for  literary  work,  which,  as  yet, 
it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  use/' 

Just  before  his  elevation  to  the  bench  two 
flattering  offers  were  made  him  within  a  week 
of  each  other :  these  were  the  presidency  of  his 
Alma  Mater,  and  the  professorship  of  Rhetoric 
and  Belles-lettres  in  the  State  University.  The 
former  offer  was  especially  tempting,  but  he  de- 
clined because  of  his  growing  aversion  to  some 
of  the  principles  of  the  denomination  that  con- 
trolled that  institution,  and  accepted  the  latter 
position,  which  he  held  until  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War.  As  he  was  opposed  to  secession,  he 
resigned  his  professorship  and  retired  to  his 
plantation  in  Hancock  County,  where  he  opened 
a  boarding  school  for  boys  conducted  on  plans 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  57 

very  different  from  those  prevailing  in  the  State 
at  the  time.  How  well  the  "New  Discipline" 
succeeded  may  be  learned  in  "My  Schools,"  pub- 
lished in  Lippincott's  Magazhw  for  November, 
1894. 

In  common  with  his  neighbor  planters  he  re- 
ceived his  portion  of  the  legacy  of  ruin  left  to 
Middle  Georgia  by  the  war.  An  estate  easily 
worth  $50,000  was  swept  away ;  but  this  was  as 
"dust  of  the  balance"  compared  to  the  loss  of  a  fa- 
vorite daughter  of  unusual  promise,  whose  death 
occurred  at  this  time.  Prostrated  by  this  be- 
reavement, and  desiring  to  get  as  far  away  as 
possible  from  painful  surroundings,  he  resolved 
to  move  his  school  to  Baltimore.  Forty  boys 
followed  him,  and  the  new  home  in  the  suburbs  of 
the  city  was  christened  "Pen  Lucy,"  in  memory 
of  the  child  whose  grave  had  been  left  behind. 

In  selecting  Baltimore  for  his  home  he  antici- 
pated by  six  years  that  other  and  greater  Geor- 
gian who,  driven  by  fate  more  kind  than  cruel, 
perhaps,  was  to  make  it  the  scene  of  one  of  the 
most  heroic  struggles  recorded  in  the  annals  of 
American  literature.  Their  names  have  added 
a  new  luster  to  the  fine  old  city  on  the  bay.  It 
is  a  pleasure  to  know  that  these  two  Georgians 
were  warm  personal  friends,  and  that  the  author 


5&  RICHARD   'MAfcCOLM    JOHNSTON'. 

of  the  "Song  of  the  Chattahoochee"  and  of  "The 
Marshes  of  Glynn"  was  largely  instrumental  in 
persuading  the  older  friend  to  seek  a  wider  field 
for  his  genius  in  portraying  a  life  that  was  dear 
to  them  both. 

He  maintained  his  connection  with  "Pen 
Lucy"  until  1883,  when  he  devoted  himself 
wholly  to  literature.  In  1895  he  was  given  a 
position  on  the  editorial  staff  of  the  United 
States  Bureau  of  Education  in  Washington. 
His  work  was  so  well  done  and  the  papers  he 
published  were  so  valuable  that  his  literary 
friends  had  no  difficulty  in  securing  his  retention 
in  office  under  change  of  administration.  Here 
he  spent  the  last  years  of  his  life  engaged,  we 
may  well  believe,  in  a  labor  of  love,  in  publish- 
ing a  series  of  papers  on  topics  pertaining  to  ed- 
ucational matters  in  Georgia  prior  to  the  war. 
These  were  published  in  the  Reports  of  the 
Commissioner  of  Education. 

Shortly  after  his  removal  to  Baltimore  he 
united  with  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  a  step 
that  he  and  his  wife  had  long  contemplated.  In 
the  communion  of  this  Church  he  died  on  Sep- 
tember 3,  1898.  In  a  preface  to  a  new  edition  of 
"Mr.  Billy  Downs  and  His  Likes,"  Mr.  Henry 
P,  Goddard  says:  "He  was  buried  from  the 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  59 

church,  which  was  filled  with  loving  friends  of 
0,11  manner  of  religious  and  political  beliefs,  and 
among  his  bearers  were  men  who  had  fought  in 
opposing  armies  in  the  War  of  Secession.  One 
cannot  but  think  that  this  would  have  pleased  the 
dear  old  gentleman,  for  while  he  bore  a  military 
title,  acquired  as  a  staff  officer  to  a  Georgia  gov- 
ernor in  war  time,  he  was  preeminently  a  man 
of  peace.  .  .  .  He  loved  his  fellow-men, 
sympathized  with  their  joys  and  sorrows,  and 
strove  to  make  the  world  bright  and  happy  for 
all  with  whom  he  was  thrown.  Although  the 
final  benediction  at  his  funeral  came  from  the 
lips  of  a  prince  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  the  life 
of  the  man  was  in  itself  a  benediction." 

In  personal  appearance  Col.  Johnston  was  a 
man  to  attract  attention  in  any  audience,  es- 
pecially if  he  happened  to  be  standing  before  the 
audience  in  the  role  of  reader  of  one  of  his 
own  stories.  The  writer  last  quoted  speaks, 
of  him  as  a  "distinguished-looking  old  gentle- 
man, some  six  feet  two  in  height,  with  a 
well-proportioned  figure,  fine  gray  hair  and 
mustache,  kindly  blue  eyes,  and  an  expression 
in  which  kindness  and  sadness  were  com- 
mingled." His  voice  was  low,  but  soft  and 
mellifluous,  and  added  its  own  charm  to  the 


60  RICHARD   'MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

simple,  direct  style  which  characterized  all  his 
best  writings.  Dr.  Charles  Forster  Smith,  in  an 
appreciative  criticism  in  The  Methodist  Quarterly 
Reviezv  for  January,  1892,  says  that  he  was  a  man 
whom  one  likes,  instinctively,  at  first  glance. 
He  possessed  "the  kindliest  blue  eye  to  be  found 
in  or  outside  of  the  State  of  Georgia.  No  one 
who  has  ever  read  his  stories,  or  ever  looked  into 
that  gentle  eye,  could  help  feeling  that  any  tale 
of  distress  would  surely  bring  a  tear  to  his  eye 
and  send  his  hand  into  his  pocket." 

In  the  thirties  and  forties  there  was  a  distinct 
but  short-lived  literary  movement  in  the  South 
which  manifested  itself  in  humorous  sketches  of 
contemporary  life.  The  writers  who  engaged  in 
this  work  took  up  literature  as  a  pastime  rather 
than  as  a  profession.  Most  of  them  were  lawyers 
who  in  the  discharge  of  their  professional  du- 
ties had  abundant  opportunity  for  observing  odd 
characters  and  picking  up  good  stories ;  and 
though  these  stories  were  sometimes  broad  and 
coarse,  they  contained  within  them  the  potency 
and  the  power  of  better  things.  The  movement 
unfortunately  suffered  "arrest  of  development," 
and  the  writers  and  their  stories  have  passed 
entirely  away,  or  remain  as  very  thin  shades  in 
the  border  land  of  literature.  Of  them  Mr.  Wat- 


RICHARD   'MALCOLM   JOHNSTON.  6 1 

terson  says :  "They  flourished  years  ago,  in  the 
good  old  times  of  muster  days  and  quarter  ra- 
cing, before  the  camp  meeting  and  the  barbecue 
had  lost  their  charm ;  when  men  led  simple, 
homely  lives,  doing  their  love-making  and  their 
lawmaking  as  they  did  their  fighting  and  their 
plowing,  in  a  straight  line."  In  a  recent  "Lit- 
erary History  of  America"  the  only  writer  of  this 
group  deemed  worthy  of  mention  happens  to  be 
the  one  who,  both  by  reason  of  choice  of  sub- 
jects and  method  of  treatment,  is  most  nearly 
allied  to  the  subject  of  this  sketch.  To  Judge 
A.  B.  Longstreet,  editor,  lawyer,  preacher,  col- 
lege president,  we  are  indebted  for  some  of  the 
raciest  stories  produced  in  the  South  before  the 
Civil  War.  It  is  true  that  when  Judge  Long- 
street  became  a  minister  of  the  gospel  and  a 
college  president  he  repudiated  these  fugitive 
children  of  his  brain  and,  Jupiter-like,  attempted 
to  destroy  them  ;  but  the  stories  of  the  "Georgia 
Scenes"  were  entirely  too  good,  had  too  piquant 
a  flavor  of  their  own  to  suffer  such  an  ignomin- 
ious fate,  at  least  until  they  had  quickened  into 
activity  the  pen  of  Col.  Johnston,  who,  about 
1870,  the  year  of  Judge  Longstreet's  death,  be- 
gan to  take  up  seriously  the  work  begun  by  his 
predecessor  thirty-five  years  before.  To  see 


62  -RICHARD  MALCO-LM   JOHNSTON. 

how  closely  related  the  "Dukesborough  Tales" 
is  to  the  "Georgia  Scenes"  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  remember  that  the  Georgia  of  Col.  John- 
ston's boyhood  days  was  not  very  far  removed 
from  the  Georgia  depicted  in  Judge  Longstreet's 
book.  "The  Militia  Drill;"  "The  Gander-pull- 
ing;" "The  Fight,"  which  so  delighted  the  soul 
of  Ransy  Sniffle;  "The  Shooting  Match,"  where 
the  stranger  shot  with  the  double  wabble ;  and 
"The  Turn  Out,"  in  which  the  teacher  capitu- 
lated in  time  to  escape  the  ducking,  might  all 
have  been  witnessed  by  Richard  Malcolm  dur- 
ing his  school  days.  It  remains  to  note  that  Col. 
Johnston's  first  volume  of  stories,  published  in 
Augusta,  Ga.,  in  1864,  was  called  "Georgia 
Sketches,  by  an  Old  Man."  The  curiously  in- 
clined may  further  trace  the  influence  of  Judge 
Longstreet  on  Col.  Johnston  in  "The  Humors 
of  Jacky  Bundle,"  "The  Various  Languages  of 
Billy  Moon,"  and  the  description  of  the  fight  in 
"King  William  and  His  Armies." 

The  little  volume  published  amid  the  uncer- 
tainties of  a  great  war  may  or  may  not  have  at- 
tracted very  much  attention  at  the  time,  but  it 
contained  two  stones  which,  if  not  booked  for 
immortality,  were  at  least  destined  to  survive 
the  shock  of  arms,  and  to  give  pleasure  to  a  host 


•RICHARD  MALCOLM   JOHNSTON.  63 

of  readers  long  after  the  war  should  become  as 
ancient  history  to  the  children  of  those  who 
first  laughed  at  the  oddities  of  "The  Goose  Pond 
School,"  or  learned  "How  Mr.  Bill  Williams 
Took  the  Responsibility/'  Seven  years  later 
this  volume,  augmented  by  four  new  stories, 
appeared  in  Baltimore  as  "Dukesborough  Tales, 
by  Philemon  Perch/'  A  second  and  enlarged 
edition  was  called  for,  and  in  1883  Messrs.  Har- 
per and  Brothers  brought  out  in  their  Franklin 
Square  Library  an  immense  edition  of  the 
"Dukesborough  Tales/'  now  increased  to  sixteen 
stories.  To  this  volume  Col.  Johnston  prefixed 
his  name  for  the  first  time. 

Let  us  glance  for  a  moment  at  some  of  the 
stages  which  mark  the  development  of  the 
schoolmaster  and  lawyer  into  the  man  of  letters. 
As  early  as  1857,  the  year  of  his  election  to  the 
professorship  of  English  at  the  State  Universi- 
ty, he  published  "The  Goose  Pond  School." 
This  won  instant  recognition,  and  was  widely 
copied  in  the  Georgia  papers,  but  at  this  time 
his  ambition  lay  in  other  directions ;  besides, 
literature  was  not  yet  a  profession  in  the  South. 
From  time  to  time  he  wrote  out  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard  as  schoolmaster  and  lawyer  be- 
cause he  loved  the  old  times,  and  published  what 


64  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

he  wrote  because  he  believed  the  life  depicted 
was  worth  preserving.  These  reminiscences  ap- 
peared in  the  New  Eclectic,  and  later  in  the  South- 
ern Magazine,  but  he  neither  asked  nor  expected 
compensation  for  them.  This  fact  helps  us  to 
account  for  the  freshness  and  spontaneity  that 
characterize  the  first  set  of  the  "Dukesborough 
Tales"  and  cause  it  to  remain  the  most  popular 
of  all  his  works.  The  life  is  sweet  and  whole- 
some, and  the  stories  smack  of  the  soil.  There 
is  an  odor  of  clover  blossoms  and  young  corn 
about  them,  and  now  and  then  one  gets  an  in- 
vigorating whiff  from  the  piny  woods  beyond 
the  Oconee. 

No  one  was  more  surprised  than  Col.  John- 
ston at  the  kindly  reception  given  these  sketches. 
Indeed,  so  little  faith  did  he  have  in  the  literary 
merit  of  his  work  that  it  was  not  until  1879  that 
he  could  be  induced  to  submit  any  of  his  stories 
to  the  Northern  magazines.  At  the  earnest  so- 
licitation of  his  friend  Sidney  Lanier,  he  sent 
"Mr.  Neelus  Peeler's  Conditions"  to  Scribner's 
Magazine,  now  the  Century.  Its  acceptance  and 
publication  mark  his  definite  entrance  upon  a 
literary  career.  In  the  history  of  American  lit- 
erature we  have  a  number  of  writers  whose 
genius  matured  late  in  life.  Holmes  lacked  but 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTOX.  65 

one  year  of  reaching  the  half-century  mark  when 
he  published  "The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast 
Table ;''  Hawthorne  was  seven  years  older  when 
"Marble  Faun"  made  its  appearance;  Whittier 
was  fifty-nine  at  the  publication  of  "Snow- 
bound;" and  Longfellow  was  sixty-eight  when 
he  read  his  "Morituri  Salutamus"  at  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  his  graduation  from  Bowdoin. 
But  these  writers,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Holmes,  had  long  been  worthy  members  of  the 
ancient  and  honorable  guild  of  letters.  Have  we 
another  instance  in  American  literature  where 
a  writer  of  Col.  Johnston's  rank  began  his  lit- 
erary career  in  his  fifty-seventh  year  ? 

From  this  time  his  stories  appeared  in  the 
best  periodicals  in  America.  The  remuneration 
was  very  acceptable,  for  school  matters  were 
not  flourishing,  and  a  living  for  himself  and  a 
large  family  had  to  be  made  somelww;  but  we 
may  well  suppose  that  the  hearty  recognition  of 
his  merits  by  the  public  and  the  cordial  welcome 
extended  him  by  his  fellow-craftsmen  gave  him 
still  greater  pleasure.  The  following  apprecia- 
tive words  from  the  pen  of  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman  were  already  in  type  when  the  an- 
nouncement of  Col.  Johnston's  death  was  made : 
"To  his  genial  soul,  that  provincial  life  of  Middle 
5 


66  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

Georgia  was  an  open  book,  rich  in  humor,  in 
homely  refinement,  in  pathos,  and  in  all  that  un- 
speakable charm  that  lived  and  died  with  the 
Old  South ;  and  the  book  suffered  no  translation 
at  his  hands :  it  was  simply  recorded  with  the 
fidelity  of  a  lover  and  the  unconscious  skill  of  a 
scholar.  He  had  no  thought  of  art  in  its  pro- 
duction; but  nature  is  always  the  perfection  of 
art,  and  the  historian  of  that  fateful  and  fated 
town  of  Dukesborough  is  justly  recognized  as 
the  founder  of  a  school  of  fiction  and  the  dean 
of  Southern  men  of  letters." 

From  first  to  last  he  published  more  than 
eighty  stories,  which,  in  addition  to  the  volumes 
already  mentioned,  have  been  issued  as  follows : 
"Old  Mark  Langston,"  1883;  "Mr.  Absalom 
Billingslea  and  Other  Georgia  Folk,"  1888; 
Ogeechee  Cross-firings/'  1889;  "The  Primes 
and  Their  Neighbors,"  1891 ;  "Mr.  Billy  Downs 
and  His  Likes,"  1892;  "Mr.  Fortner's  Marital 
Claims  and  Other  Stories,"  1892;  six  selections 
from  "Dukesborough  Tales,"  containing  "The 
Chronicles  of  Mr.  Bill  Williams,"  1892 ;  "Widow 
Guthrie,"  1893;  "Little  Ike  Templin  and  Other 
Stories,"  1894;  "Old  Times  in  Middle  Geor- 
gia," 1897;  "Pearce  Amerson's  Will,"  1898. 
In  the  above  list  "Ogeechee  Cross-firings"  and 


RICHARD   'MALCOLM    JOHNSTON1.  67 

"Pearce  Amerson's  Will"  are  novelettes,  while 
"Widow  Guthrie"  and  "Old  Mark  Langston" 
are  full-fledged  novels.  Of  these  four,  only  the 
last  need  detain  us,  for  writing  novels  was  not 
Col.  Johnston's  forte.  In  Jesse  Lines  and  his 
daughter  Doolana,  however,  we  have  two  strong 
characters.  Jesse  Lines  is  a  mean,  contemptible, 
bedridden  rascal,  whose  only  redeeming  trait  is 
his  passionate  love  for  his  high-minded  daugh- 
ter. Doolana,  by  the  way,  happens  to  be  our 
author's  favorite  among  all  his  Georgia  girls. 
In  speaking  to  a  friend  he  said  that  his  char- 
acters grew  so  real  to  him  that  they  talked  to 
him.  He  had  designed,  he  said,  to  make  Doo- 
lana mean ;  but  she  pleaded  with  him  so  earnest- 
ly from  incident  to  incident  not  to  make  her 
mean  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  pursue  his 
intention;  and  the  character  developed  into  a 
sweet  womanly  nature. 

Col.  Johnston's  literary  activity  has  not  been 
confined  to  fiction.  Faithful  to  the  traditions 
of  the  belles-lettres  professorship,  he  remained 
an  earnest  student  of  English  and  Euro- 
pean literature ;  and  he  delivered  many  lec- 
tures on  these  and  kindred  topics.  Before  the 
war  he  published  a  text-book  on  the  English 
classics ;  and  in  collaboration  with  William  H. 


68  t    RICHARD   'MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

Browne  he  wrote  a  sketch  of  "English  Litera- 
ture'' (1872),  and  a  "Life  of  Alexander  H. 
Stephens"  (1878).  In  1885  he  published  "Two 
Gray  Tourists,''  an  account  of  the  rambles  of 
our  old  friend  Philemon  Perch  and  a  congenial 
companion  in  Europe;  and  in  1891-92,  two  vol- 
umes of  "Studies,  Literary  and  Social/'  came 
from  the  press.  "Studies  on  English,  French, 
and  Spanish  Literature,"  in  1897,  an^  an  "Au- 
tobiography," in  1901,  complete  the  list  of  his 
published  volumes.  However  interesting  these  es- 
says may  be  in  revealing  the  tastes  of  the  scholar 
or  the  limitations  of  the  critic,  we  hasten  on, 
for  we  are  still  within  a  realm  where  others  are 
his  peers.  To  quote  again  from  Mr.  Stedman  : 
"It  is  only  when  the  Colonel  plays  host,  and, 
taking  the  reader  by  the  hand,  introduces  him 
in  simple,  courtly  fashion  to  the  choice  spir- 
its about  his  fireplace;  it  is  only  when  we  are 
breathing  the  Georgia  air,  and  living  within 
traveling  distance  of  "Augusty,"  that  Mecca  of 
all  true  Georgians  of  the  old  days,  that  we  find 
our  author  at  his  best  and  dearest.  Then  we 
love  to  sit  with  him,  pipe  and  julep  at  hand,  and 
listen  to  idyl  after  idyl  of  that  charmed  region, 
untouched  by  the  inexorable  hand  of  progress." 
In  such  delightful  company  we  follow  with  in- 


RICHARD   'MALCOLM   JOHNSTON.  69 

terest  the  experiences  of  Mr.  Bill  Williams  "in 
this  sorrowful  and  ontimely  world"  from  the  hu- 
miliating compromise  in  the  schoolroom  to  the 
day  of  the  militia  drill,  when  he  at  last  asserted 
his  manhood,  vindicated  his  honor,  and  proved 
himself  worthy  of  those  wonderful  twins,  Rom- 
erlus  and  Remerlus.  We  listen  with  delight 
to  the  long-winded  but  never  tiresome  stories 
of  Mr.  Pate,  very  sure  that  he  will  have  "a  good 
deal  of  love  and  courting  strung  along  and  some 
marrying  toward  the  end/1  And  let  no  one  com- 
plain that  there  is  too  much  love-making  in  these 
stories,  for  "a  body  is  obleeged  to  acknowledge 
that  it's  in  the  blood  o'  people,  old  or  young. 
Courtin'  and  marryin'  has  been  goin'  on  ever 
sence  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  gyarden,  and  down 
till  yit  it's  the  interestinest  occepation  people 
can  foller  and  hear  tell  about." 

The  village  of  Powelton,  rechristened  Dukes- 
borough  on  the  map  of  the  Muses,  and  insep- 
arably connected  with  the  gentle  folk  who  live 
and  move  and  have  their  being  in  Col.  John- 
ston's stories,  has  become  known  far  beyond  the 
bounds  of  State  or  nation.  I  doubt  if  there  is 
another  village  in  America  that  has  had  its  hoxne 
life  so  graphically  portrayed  or  its  private  his- 
tory so  fully  narrated,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that 


70  RICHARD   'MALCOLM   JOHNSTON. 

no  other  one  Could  have  stood  the  test  so  well. 
The  joys  and  the  sorrows,  the  loves  and  the 
hates,  the  quarrels  and  the  compromises,  the 
lawsuits  and  the  love  affairs,  the  weddings  and 
the  funerals,  the  camp  meetings  and  the  musters, 
the  church  trials  and  the  school  troubles,  have 
all  been  described  by  one  who  knew  this  little 
world  in  his  youth  and  loved  and  respected  it  in 
his  old  age. 

All  of  his  stories  are  essentially  reminiscences 
of  the  "grim  and  rude  but  hearty  old  times  in 
Georgia/'  In  a  letter  to  Dr.  Baskervill  he  said : 
"One  after  another  old  scenes  rose  in  my  rec- 
ollection, and  I  reproduced  them  with  many 
elaborations  and  inventions  such  as  occurred  to 
me  to  harmonize  with  them."  The  result  is  he 
has  skillfully  drawn  a  series  of  characters  that 
are  unique  in  American  literature.  They  are 
neither  to  be  confused  with  the  "poor  white 
trash"  of  other  dialect  writers,  nor  identified 
with  the  brilliant  aristocratic  society  which  dom- 
inates Page's  stories  to-day  quite  as  powerfully 
as  it  dominated  certain  portions  of  the  South 
before  the  war.  The  section  of  country  lying 
between  the  Oconee  and  the  Savannah  was  set- 
tled by  a  hardy  race  of  people,  many  of  them, 
like  Johnston's  own  ancestors,  hailing  from  Vir- 


RICHARD   MALCOLM    JOHNSTON".  7! 

ginia ;  and  there  was  still  abundant  opportunity 
for  them  to  make  proof  of  their  prowess  in  fight- 
ing the  Indians  and  conquering  the  new  country. 
Their  descendants  not  only  preserved  the  hard- 
ier traits  of  their  ancestors,  but,  perhaps  almost 
unconsciously,  developed  an  appreciation  of  na- 
tive worth  and  character  that  is  so  essential  to 
the  growth  of  genuine  mother-wit.  Here  small 
estates  were  the  rule,  large  plantations  the  ex- 
ception ;  and  there  were  no  hard  and  fast  lines 
drawn  between  the  different  classes  of  the 
whites.  Col.  Johnston  thinks  that  this  free  in- 
tercourse between  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  cul- 
tured and  the  ignorant,  accounts  for  the  racy 
humor  and  sturdy  character  of  these  "landed 
gentry"  whose  possessions  usually  consisted  of  a 
few  hundred  acres  of  land  and  a  family  or  two 
of  negroes. 

These  people,  it  is  true,  had  their  faults  and 
their  foibles ;  but  with  the  instincts'  of  a  true  hu- 
morist, he  prefers  to  laugh  with  them  rather 
than  at  them ;  and  in,  this  community,  far  re- 
moved from  the  restraints  of  more  conventional 
life,  he  finds  much  to  love  and  admire.  He  de- 
lights to  record  the  triumph  of  right  over  wrong, 
and  nothing  enlists  his  sympathy  so  quickly  as 
a  tale  of  oppression,  especially  if  the  sufferer  be 


72  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

a  widow  or  an  orphan.  Woe  to  the  man  who  at- 
tempts to  overreach  the  poor  or  the  afflicted  in 
one  of  his  stories !  One  experiences,  however, 
"a  gentle  shock  of  mild  surprise"  at  the  method 
adopted  by  Miss  Em'line  Lynch  in  "In  Dooly 
District"  for  cheering  the  drooping  spirits  of  a 
poor  half-witted  girl  who  had  been  intrusted  to 
her  care.  After  telling  of  the  victory  over  the 
scoundrel  who  had  deceived  her  ward,  Miss 
Em'line  continued :  "And  then  I  bought  her,  out 
of  the  money  we  got  for  her,  I  bought  her  & 
likely  young  neeger  woman,  and  that  seem  to 
peert'n  her  up  smart/' 

And  this  suggests  that  the  negro  does  not  play 
a  very  large  part  in  Col.  Johnston's  work.  We 
have  some  conventional  types,  such  as  Aunt  Rit- 
ter,  the  cook;  Rastus,  the  pompous  carriage 
driver  of  the  Guthries ;  and  faithful  old  Ryal  who 
is  discarded  by  his  mean-fisted  owner,  but.  finds 
a  doughty  cKampion  in  Dr.  Park  and  a  pleasant 
home  in  the  capacity  of  "Mr.  Thomas  Chivers's 
Boarder."  Only  occasionally  do  we  get  glimpses 
of  life  in  the  "quarters ;"  but  these  are  so  real- 
istic in  revealing  the  homely  traits  of  character 
and  the  mutual  good  will  and  trust  existing  be- 
tween the  slave  and  the  master  that  we  wish  he 
had  given  us  more  studies  in  black.  He  does 


RICHARD    MALCOLM     JOHNSTON.  73 

not  try  to  palliate  the  evils  of  slavery.  He  gives 
us  a  picture  of  it  as  it  no  doubt  really  existed  in, 
perhaps,  the  least  objectionable  of  all  its  forms ; 
and  yet  even  in  Dukesborough  there  was  always 
present  the  possibility  at  least  of  gross  betrayal 
of  trust  on  the  part  of  speculators  and  adven- 
turers. Though  he  did  not  make  a  specialty  of 
negro  character,  "Moll  and  Virgil"  is  undoubt- 
edly one  of  his  strongest  stories,  and  deserves 
to  rank  as  a  companion  picture  to  Joel  Chandler 
Harris's  "Free  Joe  and  the  Rest  of  the  World." 
If  the  one  shows  "the  helpless  wretchedness  of 
the  dark  side  of  slavery/'  the  other  presents  a 
picture  of  fidelity  of  two  humble  slaves  to  a  for- 
mer master  who  has  fallen  on  evil  days  that  is 
inexplicable  to  those  who  have  never  sounded 
the  depths  of  the  human  heart,  whether  it  beat 
under  white  skin  or  black. 

In  depicting  the  social  life  of  rural  Georgia  he 
did  not  fail  to  take  advantage  of  the  picturesque 
characters  and  the  dramatic  incidents  which  doc- 
trinal controversies  and  denominational  pecul- 
iarities gave  rise  to.  Thoroughly  familiar  from 
his  childhood  with  the  religious  life  of  the  com- 
munity— his  father  was  a  Baptist  minister — he 
knew  what  an  important  part  the  Church  and 
its  services  played  not  alone  in  the  religious  life 


74  RICHARD    MAtCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

but  also  in  the  intellectual  and  social  life  of  the 
people.  The  whole  community,  animated  in- 
deed by  various  motives,  looked  forward  with 
interest  to  the  monthly  stated  meeting  and  its 
attendant  church  conference,  so  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  the  older  members,  so  "tedious  and 
tasteless'1  to  the  younger  ones.  ''These  meet- 
ings were  usually  long-protracted.  All  the  busi- 
ness of  the  church-financial  matters,  reception  of 
members,  questions  concerning  fellowship,  often 
including  unimportant-domestic  infelicities,  were 
discussed  with  unlimited  freedom,  and  general- 
ly minute  but  most  irregular  circumstantiality." 
It  was  before  a  meeting  of  this  kind  that  Mrs. 
Fortner,  the  long-suffering  and  the  much-endur- 
ing, was  summoned  when  she  refused  to  obey 
her  husband  and  spoke  slightingly  of  the  au- 
thority the  apostle  Paul  is  supposed  to  have 
given  to  the  head  of  the  family.  But  let  Mrs. 
Fortner  tell  her  grievances  in  her  own  words. 
"Brother  Moderator/' *  she  began,  "I  know,  even 
if  the  Scriptur'  hadn't  said  it,  that  it's  a  shame  for 
women  to  let  their  voice  be  heard  in  the  church, 
and  the  good  Lord  know  if  any  woman  were 
ever  ashameder  than  I  am  this  minute,  I  pity 
'em.  But,  as  everybody  know  who  Jaymiah 

1  "Mr.  Fortner's  Marital  Claims." 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  75 

Fortner  is  a-p'intin'  at  by  the  not  a-yieldin'  to 
his  desires,  as  he  name  it,  I  feel  like  it's  my  duty 
to  my  very  children  a  not  counting  in  myself  at 
all,  to  tell  this  congregation,  whether  they'll  be- 
lieve it  or  not,  that  as  for  the  yielding  and  the 
humoring  I  have  been  a-doing  for  Jaymiah  Fort- 
ner  for  forty-nine  years  going  on  fifty  the  fif- 
teenth of  this  coming  September  the — why  the 
very  multip'clation  table  would  have  to  be 
brought  in  to  tell  the  number  o'  times.  .  . 
I  won't  deny  that  he  have  been  one  of  the  best 
husbands  any  woman  ever  got  married  to,  if 
sometimes — not  often,  but  sometimes — he  have 
got  fretted  because  he  have  wanted  me  to  do  and  I 
wouldn't  things  that  wern't  for  the  best,  which  if 
he  was  pinned  down  to  kiss  the  Book  he'd  be 
obliged  to  say  I'm  telling  of  the  truth.  But 
there's  one  thing  and  special  since  he  have  got 
old,  that  his  eternal  and  his  everlasting  a-coting 
the  Tostle  Paul  on  me  when  I've  done  right  or 
honest  tried  to  do  it,  it  have  made  me  so  tired 
sometimes  that  fact  is  I  never  pestered  myself 
so  very  much  about  what  the  Tostle  Paul 
thought  about  women,  be  it  little  or  be  it  nothing, 
as  long  as  I  was  trying  to  do  the  best  I  knewed 
how.  But  in  the  long  run,  in  the  very  longest 
run,  I  have  humored  Jaymiah  Former  and  fixed 


76  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

things  to  suit  him  and  saved  him  all  the  worry 
and  all  the  trouble  I  could  in  the  raising  of  our 
children  and  everything  else  a  woman  in  a  fam- 
ily is  called  on  for,  and  a-even  tried  to  not  get 
clean  wore  out  with  his  never  being  tired  of  no- 
rating  how  contemptible  and  good-for-nothing 
the  Tostle  Paul  thought  about  women  in  gen- 
eral, only  sometimes  I  acknowledge  I  have 
a'most  wished  in  my  heart  the  Tostle  Paul 
had  have  a  wife  and  knewed  for  his  own  self 
how  it  is  about  things,  that  they  isn't  to  my 
honest  opinion,  they  isn't  any  lonesome,  dis- 
appinted  bachelor  ever  did  live  that  know  all 
the  worry  and  the  trouble  and  the  one  thing 
and  another  that  married  women  has  to  go 
through  with." 

Religious  belief  was  something  very  real  to 
these  country  folk.  There  is  the  ring  of  ex- 
pectant triumph  in  the  words  of  Mrs.  Polly 
Peacock  on  the  occasion  of  a  great  family  afflic- 
tion, when  false  rumors  were  circulating  against 
her  niece,  Puss  Tanner,  and  it  became  necessary 
to  call  in  the  aid  of  the  church  conference. 
"But  never  mind  ;  the  Lord  is  strong  and  mighty. 
I  believe  he's- on  our  side,  as  much  as  he  was 
with  Deborah  under  the  palm  tree  in  Ephraim ; 


RICHARD     MALCOLM     JOHNSTON.  77 

and  if  he  is,  we  can  whip  out  the  whole  kit,  bilin', 
and  generation  of  'em."  And  the  Lord  \vas 
most  assuredly  on  her  side,  for  the  victory  was  as 
complete  as  she  wished  for. 

Even  those  who  were  not  "professors"  took 
an  active  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  Church, 
and  frequently  contributed  liberally  of  their 
means  and  advice.  Mr.  Pate,  the  genial  sage  of 
Hine's  store,  was  not  a  member  himself,  but  he 
"liked  to  see  the  others  join  the  Church,  and  on 
revival  occasions  was  known  sometimes  gently 
to  urge  young  persons  of  both  sexes  to  heed  the 
call  for  mourners."  Mr.  Billy  Downs  was  as 
punctual  at  religious  services  as  the  very  dea- 
cons. But  "conscious  of  being  a  bachelor  and  a* 
sinner,  and  therefore  unmeet  for  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,  he  had  never  applied  for  membership, 
but  he  hoped,  by  the  use  of  other  outward  means 
to  make  his  case  as  mild  as  possible  at  the  final 
judgment,  which  naturally  he  hoped  would  be 
put  off  as  long  as  possible." 

Doctrinal  discourses  on  election  and  free 
grace,  on  methods  of  baptism,  and  on  the  final 
perseverance  of  the  saints  were  heard  more  fre- 
quently sixty  years  ago  than  they  are  to-day, 
and  they  furnished  topics  for  interminable  dis- 
cussion in  the  intervals  between  the  monthly 


7  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

meetings.  And  though  these  were  matters  of 
vital  moment  in  the  eyes  of  the  community,  a 
stranger,  judging  solely  from  the  "little,  name- 
less, unremembered  acts  of  kindness  and  of  love" 
that  marked  their  daily  intercourse  with  one 
another,  might  have  had  difficulty  in  determin- 
ing which  of  the  disputants  worshiped  at  Wil- 
liam's Creek  Baptist  Church  and  which  at  the 
Big  Spring  Methodist  Meetinghouse. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  for  Col.  Johnston  to 
be  able  to  say  in  his  old  age  that  he  had  never 
written  a  line  that  reflected  upon  any  form  of 
religious  belief.  He  knew  and  appreciated  the 
great  religious  leaders  of  Georgia.  It  was 
through  the  influence  of  Jesse  Mercer  that  his 
father  became  a  Baptist  preacher.  His  "Ogee- 
qhee  Cross-firings"  is  dedicated  "To  the  Mem- 
ory of  Right  Rev.  George  Foster  Pierce,  who, 
during  many  years,  was  the  author's  close  neigh- 
bor and  friend,  whose  love  of  the  humorous,  both 
as  a  hearer  and  a  rehearser,  whose  marvelous 
personal  beauty,  whose  devout,  innocent  life, 
and  whose  unrivaled  eloquence  made  him,  of  all 
men,  in  his  native  State,  during  his  time,-  the 
one  most  admired,  loved,  and  revered." 

Closely  related  to  the  religious  belief  of  the 
people,  and  indeed  growing  out  of  it,  was  a  mild 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  79 

form  of  fatalism  which  was  especially  pro- 
nounced in  regard  to  marriages  and  deaths. 
One  confesses,  however,  a  bit  of  skepticism  as 
to  fate's  responsibility  for  all  the  deaths  that 
take  place  in  Col.  Johnston's  stories.  They  oc- 
cur so  opportunely.  So  many  stalwart  men  and 
apparently  healthy  women  fall  into  a  sudden  de- 
cline and  pass  rapidly  away  just  at  the  time  when 
their  departure  relieves  the  situation,  and  pre- 
pares the  way  for  happy  marriages  among  the 
survivors,  that  one  cannot  help  thinking  that  a 
kindly  providence  in  the  person  of  our  genial 
author,  rather  than  fate,  is  directing  the  affairs  of 
men  and  women  in  Dukesborough  and  vicinity. 

Our  annalist  is  never  happier  than  when  re- 
cording the  loves  of  the  older  inhabitants  of  the 
community,  and  his  readers  recall  how  many  of 
his  stories  deal  with  the  experiences  of  old  bach- 
elors and  widowers.  He  delights  to  play  at 
cross-purposes  and  to  spring  surprises  upon  the 
neighbors,  and  upon  his  readers,  too,  for  that 
matter.  Given  a  comely  widow  under  forty  with 
a  fair  tract  of  land  and  a  good  bunch  of  negroes ; 
a  bright-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  girl,  pretty  as  a 
peach  but  without  property;  a  jolly  bachelor  old 
enough  to  be  her  father;  and  a  sedate  young 
man  hardlv  turned  one-and-twentv — and  the 


So  RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON. 

probabilities  are  that  the  old  bachelor  gets  the 
girl  and  the  roses,  and  the  young  man  compro- 
mises on  the  widow  and  the  property.  Let  us 
not,  however,  judge  the  old  bachelors  too  harsh- 
ly. "Mr.  Cummin's  Relinquishment"  is  the 
story  of  a  noble-hearted  old  fellow  whose  self- 
negation  was  as  heroic  as  anything  recorded  in 
the  annals  of  chivalry. 

It  is  too  soon  after  Col.  Johnston's  death  to 
attempt  any  critical  estimate  of  his  literary  work, 
or  to  fix  his  place  among  the  humorous  writers 
of  America.  His  limitations  are  easily  apparent, 
related  as  they  are  to  the  choice  of  his  field  and 
the  character  of  his  work,  and  some  of  them 
have  already  been  indicated.  Dukesborough 
might  easily  have  furnished  the  raw  material  for 
a  dozen  good  short  stories,  or  one  good  novel, 
but  not  for  half  a  dozen  volumes  of  stories,  to 
say  nothing  of  two  or  three  novels.  It  doesn't 
require  a  very  astute  critic,  therefore,  to  note  that 
his  work  as  a  whole  is  marked  by  narrowness  of 
range  and  paucity  of  incident ;  the  same  situa- 
tions as  well  as  the  same  characters  are  com- 
pelled to  do  duty  in  several  different  stories,  and 
this  has  a  discouraging  effect  upon  one  who  at- 
tempts to  read  them  through  consecutively.  In 
the  more  complicated  stories  he  lacks  the  power 


RICHARD    MALCOLM    JOHNSTON.  8 1 

of  sustained  narration ;  the  plots  are  often  ar- 
tificial and  the  denouement  is  apt  to  be  unsat- 
isfactory. His  villains  are  never  quite  consistent. 
They  have  a  rather  monotonous  trick,  too,  of 
escaping  the  consequences  of  their  evil  deeds  by 
becoming  helpless  imbeciles  or  harmless  idiots 
when  their  rascalities  are  discovered.  Again, 
dialect  stories  are  neither  as  popular  nor  as 
novel  as  they  were  twenty-five  years  ago.  After 
all  deductions  are  made,  however,  we  must  ad- 
mit that  Col.  Johnston  has  left  a  number  of 
stories  that,  by  reason  of  their  intrinsic  worth, 
their  genuine  humor,  and  their  faithful  portrayal 
of  an  interesting  though  narrow  phase  of  life, 
will  not  readily  lose  their  value  or  their  popu- 
larity. When  the  proper  time  comes,  some  one 
will  do  a  kindness  to  Col.  Johnston's  reputation, 
and  a  greater  one  to  the  reading  publi'c,  by  col- 
lecting from  all  his  writings  into  a  single  volume 
twelve  or  fifteen  of  his  best  short  stories ;  and 
this  volume,  entitled  "Dukesborough  Tales;  or, 
Old  Times  in  Middle  Georgia,"  will  be  appre- 
ciated and  cherished  by  all  who  love  Southern 
life  and  Southern  literature. 
6 


SHERWOOD  BONNER. 

BY  B.   M.  DRAKE. 

FROM  the  Walnut  Hills  about  Vicksburg  to 
where  the  Tennessee  River  washes  the  north- 
eastern border  of  Tishomingo  County,  the  soil  of 
North  Mississippi  is  singularly  fertile.  Broken 
by  no  mountain  ranges,  but  diversified  by  the 
pleasant  alternation  of  gentle  hill  and  rolling 
prairie  and  wooded  stream,  it  could  not  remain 
long  in  its  primeval  wildness.  About  the  begin- 
ning of  the  nineteenth  century  sturdy  frontiers- 
men from  the  older  settlements  north  and  east, 
attracted  by  its  unclaimed  riches,  began  to  clear 
its  forests  and  subdue  its  productive  lands  to  the 
use  of  man.  The  soil  and  climate  proved  well 
adapted  to  the  culture  of  cotton,  and  the  more 
successful  pioneers  added  tract  to  tract  and  acre 
to  acre,  and  bought  up  slaves  to  tend  their  re- 
munerative fields.  So  it  was  that  the  very  na- 
ture of  the  country  and  the  conditions  of  settle- 
ment brought  about  the  plantation  system. 

Up  to  the  Civil  War  the  community  was  per- 
sistently rural,  and  even  to  the  present  day  no 
large  towns  have  grown  up  in  the  State.  The 
planter  was  the  typical  figure  in  this  life.  The 
merchant,  the  physician,  the  lawyer,  was  a  plant- 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  83 

er  either  in  fact  or  in  possibility.  Of  this  Mis- 
sissippi planter  Prof.  Trent  says :  "On  his  large 
plantation,  amid  his  hundreds  of  slaves,  it  was  a 
matter  of  course  that  he  should  develop  some 
of  the  Carolinian's  masterful  traits,  while  his 
position  as  a  frontiersman  and  pioneer  gave  him 
a  basis  of  character  not  dissimilar  to  that  of  the 
hardy  settler  on  the  Watauga  and  the  Cum- 
berland. "  Isolated  by  distance  and  lack  of  com- 
munication, and  most  of  all  by  the  peculiar  in- 
stitution of  slavery,  these  planters  had  a  civiliza- 
tion of  their  own,  by  which  every  newcomer  was 
either  assimilated  or  expelled. 

Dr.  Charles  Bonner,  who  had  emigrated  as  a 
boy  from  Ireland  to  Pennsylvania,  came  hither 
to  seek  his  fortune,  and  seems  to  have  adapted 
himself  easily  to  the  new  surroundings.  Through 
his  marriage  to  Miss  Mary  Wilson,  a  wealthy 
and  attractive  Southern  girl,  he  became  iden- 
tified with  the  landed  interests  of  the  country, 
and  eventually  devoted  himself  to  the  care  of 
his  plantations.  One  who  knew  them  says : 
"Perhaps  no  better  type  of  the  old-time  South- 
ern gentleman  and  lady  could  be  found  than  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Bonner.  He  was  cultivated,  well-read, 
without  ambition  to  have  his  own  name  or  that 
of  his  children  go  beyond  their  local  limits. 


84  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

.  .  .  He  was  thoroughly  conventional  in  his 
ideas.  Both  he  and  Mrs.  Bonner  would  have 
been  the  last  people  to  encourage  a  woman,  es- 
pecially their  own  daughter,  to  throw  off  the 
bonds  which  tied  her  to  her  home  circle  as  the 
limit  of  her  influence  and  aims/'  The  good  doc- 
tor and  his  wife  finally  built  and  settled  in  the 
village  of  Holly  Springs,  to  enjoy,  after  the  fine 
old  Southern  fashion,  the  prosperity  which  had 
fallen  to  their  lot. 

It  was  here  that  Katherine  Sherwood  Bonner 
was  born,  on  the  26th  of  February,  1849.  Here 
she  spent  her  childhood  and  young  womanhood, 
and  of  this  early  environment  almost  all  her 
stories  bear  the  impress.  Conditions  in  the 
South  made  it  necessary  for  her  to  do  her  work 
far  away  from  home.  Life  in  a  new  environment 
widened  her  horizon,  enabled  her  to  look  at 
national  events  from  a  national  standpoint,  but 
she  never  ceased  to  be  a  Southerner.  Her  heart 
ever  turned  toward  her  Mississippi  home,  and 
her  inspiration  comes  from  the  South.  In  fact, 
it  was  here  and  from  a  Mississippian  that  she 
learned  the  first  lesson  in  that  toleration  which 
is  so  seldom  learned  in  the  circumscribed  life  of 
a  small  community;  for  in  one  of  her  letters 
she  tells  how  when  still  a  girl  she  was  surprised 


SHERWOOD    B'ONNER.  85 

and  stirred  to  thought  by  L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  who 
told  her  that  of  American  poems  he  thought  the 
finest  were  Whittier's  poems  on  slavery.  She 
carried  with  her,  too,  through  life  the  masterful- 
ness of  the  Carolinian  and  the  hardihood  of  the 
pioneer. 

We  shall  not,  however,  try  to  point  out  in  de- 
tail the  influence  of  heredity  and  environment 
upon  her  life.  These  influences  are  so  complex, 
especially  in  a  highly  endowed  and  very  sus- 
ceptible nature  like  hers,  that  the  effort  would 
be  illusory.  We  shall  get  more  profit  by  trying 
to  form  some  idea  of  this  young  Kate  Bonner 
as  she  appeared  to  herself  and  her  friends  in  her 
girlhood,  of  her  training  and  aspirations,  of  the 
impression  she  left  on  those  who  knew  her  then 
and  later;  for  she  was  always  young,  not  in 
years  only — though  she  was  only  thirty-four 
when  she  died — but  also  in  the  buoyancy  and 
brightness  of  youth.  "Your  joyous  nature 
drinks  in  the  sunshine  and  repels  the  shade," 
said  the  poet  Longfellow  to  her,  giving  utter- 
ance to  the  impression  that  she  made  even  on 
those  who  knew  her  only  in  the  last  sad  years 
when  sorrow  and  pain  beset  her  life — an  impres- 
sion that  was  due  to  the  characteristic  fullness 
of  life  which  was  manifest  in  the  "slender  and 


86  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

overgrown  child"  when  she  appeared  in  the 
schools  of  Holly  Springs  to  join  gladly  in  the 
sports  of  the  children,  to  read  greedily  every- 
thing that  fell  under  her  eye.  At  this  time  she 
seems  not  to  have  been  popular,  being  separated 
from  her  fellows  by  a  certain  precocity  and 
strangeness  of  manner,  and  not  yet  being  an 
acknowledged  leader.  It  was  only  as  years  went 
by  that  her  increasing  personal  charm  and  clear 
intellectual  ability  gained  for  her  popularity  and 
preeminence  in  the  eyes  both  of  teachers  and 
fellow-pupils.  Not  that  her  manners  any  more 
than  her  features  became  perfectly  regular,  for 
though  none  of  her  heroines  represent  herself, 
yet  in  the  unconventional  ways  and  love  of  books 
of  Blythe  Herndon  in  "Like  Unto  Like"  we 
may,  no  doubt,  see  reminiscences  of  her  own 
girlhood ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  Long- 
fellow in  his  letters  sometimes  calls  her  Blythe 
Herndon.  But  behind  all  she  did  there  was  a 
personality  that  was  not  to  be  measured  by  ordi- 
nary standards.  For  the  strange  girl  had  grown 
into  a  wonderful  young  womanhood ;  her  fine 
face,  her  marvelous  coloring,  her  magnificent 
figure,  the  untrammeled  genuineness  of  her 
manner — all  spoke  of  the  bounding  life  within. 
"She  might  do  the  same  thing  that  another  did, 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  87 

but  she  never  did  it  in  the  same  way."  Her  rest- 
less energy  and  courage  preferred  always  to 
strike  out  a  new  path  for  itself.  The  rapidity 
with  which  she  could  read  and  the  extent  of  her 
reading  will  bear  comparison  with  the  stories  of 
Lord  Macaulay's  youth,  and  her  compositions 
at  fifteen  were  looked  upon  by  her  companions 
as  literary  gems.  Yet  we  are  by  no  means  to 
think  of  this  young  author,  either  at  this  time 
or  later,  as  a  bookworm  or  ''bluestocking." 
It  is  characteristic  of  her  that  her  remarkable 
susceptibility  to  the  pleasures  of  reading  did  not 
preclude  the  most  intense  enjoyment  of  so- 
ciety. Her  ability  to  attract  and  charm  both 
men  and  women  was  not  secondary  to  her  lit- 
erary talent.  She  had  a  fine  feminine  delight 
in  small  matters  of  dress,  which  was  never  lost 
in  the  care  or  work  of  her  strenuous  literary  life. 
She  was  in  touch  with  all  that  others  enjoyed  in 
life,  and  only  lived  more  intensely  in  all  these 
directions.  It  was  the  wholesomeness  as  well 
as  the  energy  of  her  humanity  which,  beginning 
to  be  visible  already  in  the  sixteen-year-old  girl, 
made  her  the  leader  among  her  friends,  as  she 
was. always  afterwards  in  every  circle  in  which 
she  moved. 

When  she  was  sixteen  she  suffered  the  loss 


88  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

of  her  mother,  and  in  the  same  year  her  school 
life  came  to  a  close.  With  the  exception  of  a 
half  year  in  1863  at  a  fashionable  girls'  school  in 
Montgomery,  Ala.,  she  had  had  only  the  oppor- 
tunities afforded  by  local  schools,  and  in  these 
she  was  never  distinguished  as  a  hard  student, 
though  her  native  brightness  enabled  her  always 
to  stand  well  in  her  classes  without  hard  study. 
The  meagerness  of  her  educational  outfit  was 
unfortunate.  'Her  extensive  reading  did,  of 
course,  supplement  the  inadequate  school  train- 
ing, her  open  eyes  learned  much  from  the  life 
about  her,  and  "writing  in  clear  and  transparent 
English  was  as  natural  to  her  as  singing  cor- 
rectly and  in  time  is  to  a  child  of  true  musical 
ear."  Yet  these  things,  essential  as  they  are, 
cannot  take  the  place  of  that  discipline  which  is 
given  by  the  systematic  courses  of  study  in  a 
good  school ;  and  this  she  herself  soon  realized. 

So  equipped  did  Sherwood  Bonner  enter  upon 
her  young  womanhood  as  her  native  Southland 
entered  upon  a  new  era  in  its  history — an  era 
which  we  must  understand  to  appreciate  the  full 
meaning  of  her  life  and  work.  It  was  a  critical 
period.  Like  the  great  war  that  preceded  it,  it 
is  not  without  its  pain  and  its  glory  for  the 
people  who  bore  a  part  in  it  and  for  their  chil- 


SHERWOOD    BON  NEK.  89 

dren.  In  the  story  of  "Red  Rock"  Mr.  Page 
has  lately  given  us  a  view  of  this  period  from 
the  Southern  white  man's  standpoint,  and  to  this 
time  belongs  "John  March,  Southerner,"  where- 
in Mr.  Cable  has  looked  at  the  phenomena  of 
reconstruction  from  the  standpoint,  one  might 
say,  of  an  advocate  of  abolition  and  negro  suf- 
frage who  had  seen  his  hopes  disappointed  by 
indomitable  misapprehension  and  prejudice 
among  Southern  people.  Both  books  have  a 
political  purpose,  and  yet  both  will  help  us  to 
realize  events  and  feelings  of  the  time.  Sher- 
wood Bonner's  longest  story,  "Like  Unto  Like," 
also  deals  with  this  era,  and  not  from  a  political 
standpoint.  Her  treatment  is  in  fact  singularly 
nonpartisan,  and  it  no  doubt  contributed  to 
lessen  the  bitterness  of  sectional  feeling.  But 
we  cannot  suppose  that  this  was  the  attitude  of 
the  sixteen-year-old  girl  to  whom  the  course  of 
events  was  daily  bringing  unexpected  privations 
and  hardships.  She  was  a  part  of  the  life,  of  the 
situation,  which  these  stories  bring  before  us,  in 
which  nonpartisans  could  not  be.  The  war  had 
made  the  old  order  no  longer  possible ;  but  it 
had  created  no  new  order,  and  before  the  social 
reconstruction  could  take  place  there  was  to  be 
further  destruction  of  ideas  and  traditions.  The 


9°  SHERWOOD    BONNEK. 

old  economic  system  by  which  the  laborers  had 
been  kept  in  the  field  was  done  away,  and  a  new 
system  was  to  be  wrought  of  its  debris  by  land- 
owner and  laborer  who  had  only  known  the  old 
and  could  not  easily  adapt  themselves  to  a  new. 
Middle-aged  men  who  had  lived  in  ease  until 
this  great  catastrophe  lost  eventually  the  land 
they  could  no  longer  use;  middle-aged  men 
with  darker  skin  found  themselves  helpless  with- 
out a  master's  guidance,  and  fell  into  want  and 
starvation.  Women  who  had  never  known 
what  want  was  now  turned  their  hands  to  the 
roughest  work,  and  hands  hardened  by  toil  hung 
idle  through  misapprehension  of  the  govern- 
ment's intention  toward  them.  Those  who  had 
been  masters,  those  who  were  educated,  were 
practically  disfranchised ;  and  those  who  had  a 
few  years  before  been  their  slaves,  those  who 
were  thoroughly  ignorant,  assumed  political 
control  under  the  leadership,  for  the  most  part, 
of  designing  adventurers.  It  is  no  wonder  that 
this  reconstruction,  social  as  well  as  political, 
with  its  necessary  uprooting  of  the  traditions  of 
the  old  time,  with  its  violence,  with  its  seeming 
hopelessness  and  cruelty,  should  have  aroused 
more  bitter  animosity  than  even  the  preceding 
years  of  armed  conflict.  Alas !  those  dread- 


SHERWOOD    BON'NER.  91 

ful  years  of  battle  and  revolution  left  a  legacy 
which  is  not  even  yet  spent,  a  legacy  of  bitter 
misunderstandings  and  lawless  violence.  And 
we  must  think  of  Sherwood  Bonner  as  sharing 
the  feeling  of  her  people.  It  was  in  this  time  of 
humiliation  and  despair  that  the  people  of  the 
South  displayed  the  greatest  heroism.  While 
many  Mississippians  who  could  not  brook  de- 
feat left  their  desolated  plantations  to  found  new 
homes  in  Central  or  South  America,  the  greater 
number  with  nobler  courage  took  heart  to  turn 
defeat  into  victory.  It  took  more  indomitable 
will  and  courage  than  to  face  the  cannon  at  Get- 
tysburg or  Franklin,  more  than  to  build  a  new 
home  in  Brazil  or  Honduras.  But  with  such 
unconquerable  courage  did  hundreds  of  youn^ 
Van  Tollivers  go  back  to  the  old  plantation,  ana 
Jacqueline  Gray  entered  the  law  office,  and  John 
March  determined  to  make  his  broad  acres  the 
home  of  industry.  And,  with  no  less  courage, 
there  was  Blair  Gary  in  the  schoolroom  and 
Mary  Barton  ready  to  join  Van  on  the  planta- 
tion. 

It  was  in  this  transition  period  that  Sherwood 
Bonner  passed  from  girlhood  to  young  woman- 
hood, and  she  too  felt  the  toils,  the  hardships 
and  incongruities,  and  the  new  courage  and  en- 


92  SHERWOOD    BO'NPNER. 

ergy  of  the  time.  Already  as  the  sound  of  guns 
died  away  in  Virginia  the  Boston  Ploughman,  of 
which  Nahum  Capen  was  then  editor,  had  ac- 
cepted her  first  story,  for  which  she  received 
twenty  dollars,  as  an  autograph  entry  in  her 
scrapbook  informs  us.  The  title  of  the  story 
was  "Laura  Capello :  A  Leaf  from  a  Traveler's 
Notebook."  Of  this  story  Prof.  Bondurant,  in 
his  sketch  of  Sherwood  Bonner,-  says  with  dis- 
crimination :  "It  is  a  mystery  story,  highly  melo- 
dramatic and  crude,  but  containing  the  promise 
of  a  rich  fulfillment  as  the  bud  contains  the  rose. 
.  .  .  The  sketch  shows  dramatic  power,  and 
abounds  in  vivid  description."  "Laura  Capel- 
lo," says  the  same  authority,  "was  followed  by 
'A  Flower  of  the  South,'  published  in  a  musical 
journal.  Somewhat  later  a  piece  called  'An  Ex- 
position of  One  of  the  Commandments'  was 
sent  to  Frank  Leslie's  Journal."  She  seems  to 
have  written  nothing  more  at  this  time,  and 
these  pieces  furnish  us  only  a  promise  of  the 
writer's  power.  Though  her  father  had  lost 
heavily  through  the  war,  she  did  not  yet  have  to 
earn  her  own  bread,  and  the  brilliant  and  beau- 
tiful young  woman,  who  had  just  entered  so- 
ciety, took  part  in  its  gayeties  with  the  energy 
that  characterized  all  she  did.  In  1871  she  was 


SHERWOOD    BO'NNER.  93 

married  to  Mr.  Edward  McDowell,  of  Holly 
Springs.  With  his  young  wife  he  determined 
to  seek  his  fortune  on  the  wild  frontier  of  Texas  ; 
and  it  was  now,  perhaps,  that  Sherwood  Bonner 
first  felt  severely  the  hardships  which  the  great 
cataclysm  had  brought  to  so  many  of  her  people. 
The  Texas  venture  was  a  failure.  Mrs.  McDow- 
ell was  now  the  mother  of  a  little  girl,  and  felt 
keenly  the  responsibility  for  her  support.  Her 
marriage  had  not  proved  a  happy  one,  and  she 
was  too  independent  to  eat  the  bread  of  idleness. 
This  crisis  exercised  a  decisive  influence  upon 
her  future  life.  Thrown  thus  upon  her  own  re- 
sources, with  characteristic  courage  she  deter- 
mined to  go  to  Boston,  relying  on  the  talent  of 
which  her  earlier  ventures  had  given  indication 
to  provide  for  her  needs.  "Her  husband  and 
father  consented,  though  reluctantly,  to  her  tak- 
ing this  step,  which  was  a  violent  shock  to  their 
conservatism."  This  determination,  though 
daring,  was  quite  characteristic  of  the  bold 
heart  which  conceived  it ;  but  sprang  not  only 
from  natural  courage,  but  also  from  an  unwaver- 
ing confidence  in  her  own  talent.  This  she  never 
lost,  and  it  perhaps  contributed  toward  the 
strong  faith  that  her  friends  felt  in  her  fu- 
ture from  the  very  first.  It  did  not  seem  to 


94  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

them  to  be  conceit,  but  a  just  self-knowledge ; 
and  when  such  self-confidence  is  justified  by 
achievement  we  are  all  accustomed  to  call  it  the 
instinct  of  genius.  So  we  say  of  Milton  and 
Wordsworth,  and  so  we  begin  to  say  of  Sidney 
Lanier.  Sherwood  Bonner  did  not  live  long 
enough  to  fulfill  her  prediction  that  she  would 
write  the  long-talked-of  American  novel ;  but 
without  anticipating  the  critical  examination  of 
her  work,  we  may  say  here  that  those  who  read 
her  bright  stories,  and  even  her  less  successful 
novelette,  "Like  Unto  Like,"  will  not  be  dis- 
posed to  say  she  hoped  for  the  impossible. 

In  one  matter,  however,  she  soon  learned  that 
she  had  overestimated  her  equipment.  As  com- 
pared with  Boston  standards,  her  school  educa- 
tion was  meager  enough.  "Her  undisciplined 
reading  had  not  only  failed  to  lay  a  solid  "founda- 
tion of  knowledge,  but,  what  was  of  still  more 
consequence  at  the  moment,  had  left  her  with- 
out the  literary  catchwords  of  the  day."  As  has 
been  already  intimated,  Sherwood  Bonner's 
reading  had  been  quite  extensive.  In  addition 
to  her  father's  library,  she  had  "read  everything 
in  town/'  But  the  libraries  of  Southern  gentle- 
men had  their  limitations,  and  of  course  there 
were  no  public  libraries.  Here  is  her  own  de- 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  95 

scription  of  the  reading  of  such  a  town  as  Holly 
Springs,  taken  from  "Like  Unto  Like :"  "Their 
reading  was  of  a  good,  solid  sort.  They  were 
brought  up,  as  it  were,  on  Walter  Scott.  They 
read  Richardson,  and  Fielding,  and  Smollett, 
though  you  may  be  sure  that  the  last  two  were 
not  allowed  to  girls  until  they  were  married. 
They  liked  Thackeray  pretty  well,  Bulwer  very, 
well,  and  Dickens  they  read  under  protest — they 
thought  him  low.  They  felt  an  easy  sense  of 
superiority  in  being  'quite  English  in  our  tastes, 
you  know/  and  knew  little  of  the  literature  of 
their  own  country,  as  it  came  chiefly  from  the 
North.  Of  its  lesser  lights  they  have  never 
heard,  and,  as  for  the  greater,  they  would  have 
pitted  an  ounce  of  Poe  against  a  pound  of  any 
one  of  them."  While  Sherwood  Bonner's  read- 
ing was  much  wider  than  this  average,  her  clear 
vision  at  once  perceived  its  defects.  These  de- 
fects she  set  about  resolutely  to  make  good.  And 
so  it  happened  that  her  ten  years  in  Boston, 
during  which  her  work  was  done,  were  also  years 
of  schooling;  and  this  not  only  in  the  sense  that 
during  the  whole  time  she  was  still  privately  per- 
fecting her  education,  but  that,  for  a  while,  she 
actually  attended  school.  And  this  is  no  small 
matter,  for  work  done  in  school  years  is  apt  to 


96  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

be  trite,  to  have  something  of  the  character  of 
an  exercise.  This  is  an  almost  inevitable  result 
of  the  prevailing  attitude  of  the  mind  which  is 
yet  exploring  fields  of  knowledge  in  which  there 
are  no  discoveries  to  make.  When  we  take  into 
consideration,  besides,  the  immaturity  of  a  mind 
only  partially  trained,  we  are  indeed  surprised 
that  Sherwood  Bonner  accomplished  what  she 
did  in  those  ten  years. 

She  began  her  work  of  self-support  in  Boston 
by  writing  sketches  of  Northern  life  for  the 
South,  and  sketches  of  Southern  life  for  North- 
ern periodicals.  In  the  letters  of  this  time  we 
find  her  describing,  with  considerable  humor, 
noted  places  and  people  as  they  impressed  her. 
When  she  visits  Emerson,  for  instance,  she  is 
not  quite  happy,  because  she  does  not  feel  that 
the  philosopher's  way  of  looking  into  the  dis- 
tance as  he  speaks  or  listens  is  quite  the  best 
way  of  appreciating  a  bunch  of  purple  violets 
which  she  has  fastened  in  her  hair  for  his  special 
benefit.  So  we  have  little  characteristic  sayings 
and  ways  of  Wendell  Phillips,  of  Miss  Alcott, 
and  others,  brought  out,  to  say  nothing  of  her 
half-laughing  comments  on  Boston  life  in  gen- 
eral. "The  fatal  element  of  these  Bostonians," 
she  says,  "is  that  you  can't  teach  them  any- 


SHERWOOD   BONNER.  97 

thing."  Yet,  teachable  or  not,  "these  Bos- 
tonians"  received  the  young  Southerner  with 
interest  and  kindness.  Nahum  Capen,  who  had 
published  her  first  story,  took  her  into  his  house 
when  she  came  East,  and  remained  her  friend 
and  adviser  to  the  end.  But  chief  among  her 
friends  was  the  poet  Longfellow,  whose  ac- 
quaintance she  made  soon  after  going  to  Bos- 
ton. Among  the  papers  of  the  late  Prof.  Ross, 
of  Alabama,  who  was  preparing  to  write  a 
sketch  of  Sherwood  Bonner,  there  are  a  few  let- 
ters from  Longfellow  belonging  to  this  period. 
In  one  of  them  he  says :  "I  send  herewith  two 
little  volumes  for  your  little  Lilian.  It  will  be  a 
long  time  before  she  will  be  able  to  read  them, 
and  yet  time  travels  fast  and  we  are  all  old  be- 
fore we  know  it."  A  little  later  he  writes: 
"When  this  ['The  Masque  of  Epimetheus']  is 
done  I  shall  begin  on  Toems  of  Places/  and 
then  I  shall  need  your  aid  still  more."  Again, 
apparently  in  answer  to  some  fear  of  hers  that 
the  employment  was  only  a  plan  for  helping  her, 
he  says :  "Certainly  you  can  be  of  the  greatest 
help  to  me  in  the  Toems  of  Places/  It  would 
occupy  two  or  three  hours  in  the  morning  only, 
and  you  would  have  the  afternoons  and  even- 
ings entirely  free.  The  work  itself  would  not,  I 
7 


9  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

am  sure,  be  distasteful  to  you,  as  it  deals  with 
poets  and  poetry."  Accordingly  in  the  compila- 
tion of  this  work  Sherwood  Bonner  acted  as  the 
poet's  private  secretary.  In  another  letter  he 
says :  "What  a  delightful  account  you  give  me 
of  your  little  Lilian !  Her  wise  sayings  are  very 
striking,  particularly  what  she  said  when  adorn- 
ing you  with  flowers."  And  upon  the  sugges- 
tion of  this  little  incident  he  sketches  the  open- 
ing scene  of  a  "Romance" — a  scene  recogniza- 
ble in  Sherwood  Bonner's  "Two  Storms."  In 
addition  to  giving  her  his  personal  friendship, 
he  believed  in  her  talent  and  helped  her  in  many 
ways,  by  advice  and  suggestion,  by  his  influence 
and  the  prestige  his  patronage  brought.  But 
the  benefits  of  this  friendship  were  not  all  upon 
one  side;  for  the  influence  of  Sherwood  Bon- 
ner's  magnetic  personality  seems  to  have  given 
new  vigor  to  the  poet's  old  age.  In  fact,  all  who 
came  in  contact  with  her,  whether  men  or  wom- 
en, came  under  the  spell  of  her  personality. 
"She  was  the  most  charming  conversationalist 
I  ever  knew,"  says  one  who  knew  her  at  this 
time.  And  so  wherever  she  went  she  made  per- 
sonal friends  and  believers  in  her  future.  The 
literary  magazines,  too,  which  have  done  so 
much  for  the  development  of  Southern  litera- 


SHERWOOD  BONNER.  99 

ture,  readily  opened  their  columns  to  Sher- 
wood Bonner's  bright  stories  of  Southern  life. 
Throughout  her  life  whatever  she  wrote  was  ac- 
cepted. 

And  this  ever-widening  acquaintance  and  in- 
tercourse, this  unvarying  success,  had  its  reflex 
influence.  She  got  rid,  no  doubt,  of  many  preju- 
dices which  she  had  naturally  entertained.  Her 
stories  dealing  with  Southern  life  and  the  recon- 
struction period  show  an  impartiality  which 
hardly  any  other  writer  has  achieved.  She  saw 
and  did  not  spare  the  weak  points  of  the  South. 
But  no  more  did  Boston  and  Boston's  pride  of 
intellect  escape  the  sharp  arrows  of  her  wit. 
And  as  she  was  loyal  to  the  personal  friends  of 
her  girlhood,  often  taking  them  to  see  her  poet 
friend  when  they  were  in  Boston,  so  her  loyalty 
to  all  that  was  noble  and  true  in  the  South  never 
wavered.  Once,  when  she  tells  how  Miss  Alcott 
said  to  her,  "I  like  your  Southern  women — they 
are  very  pretty  and  refined  and  well-bred;  but, 
do  you  know,  they  always  seemed  to  me  like 
dressed-up  dolls,"  she  exclaims :  "Sweet  women 
of  the  South !  I  thought  of  you  as  I  had  known 
you,  in  your  homespun  dress  or  your  plain  black 
robe,  your  eyes  shining  with  faith  and  hope,  your 
steady  white  hands  binding  ragged  wounds  or 


100  SHERWOOD   BONNER. 

pointing  the  way  to  heaven  to  dying  eyes,  your 
toil,  your  suffering,  your  courage  in  those  stern, 
somber  days  when  your  beautiful  country  stood 
all  bleeding  and  desolate  and  despairing.  My 
eyes  grew  dim.  Dressed-up  dolls  !  Quarrel  then 
with  angels  because  their  snowy  wings  are  fair." 
So  in  regard  to  life  generally  she  modified  many 
opinions  which  she  had  received  by  tradition, 
under  the  educative  influence  of  her  new  sur- 
roundings. But  her  head  was  not  turned  by  her 
new  surroundings  and  her  success ;  nor  did  she 
surrender  herself  a  blind  worshiper  of  any  set 
of  men  or  opinions.  This  is  well  illustrated  by 
her  attitude  toward  Longfellow.  He  was  then 
at  the  height  of  his  fame,  he  was  her  personal 
friend,  and  he  had  frequently  given  her  valuable 
advice.  There  could,  therefore,  hardly  be  a 
stronger  proof  of  her  independence  and  com- 
mon sense  than  her  rejection  of  his  advice,  given 
especially  when  she  determined  to  write  her  first 
novel,  that  she  should  lay  the  scene  of  it  in  the 
East,  instead  of  the  South.  Nor  were  these 
early  years  in  Boston  revolutionary;  they  did 
not  break  with  the  past,  but  saw  a  normal, 
healthy  growth  in  the  mind  of  the  young  writer, 
under  the  stimulus  of  a  definite  ambition  and 


SHERWOOD   BONNER.  IOI 

hope,  and  of  the  sights  and  ideas  and  life  of  a 
new  world. 

This  most  useful  preparation  of  a  novelist  was 
continued  by  the  European  journey  which  she 
made  in  1876.  Doubtless  this  girl,  who  was  train- 
ing herself  for  writing  "the  American  novel/'  felt 
that  a  novelist  must  know  life  in  its  breadth  as 
well  as  its  depth ;  but  she  enjoyed  the  pleasures 
of  foreign  travel  for  their  own  sake,  just  as  she 
had  the  life  of  the  great  New  England  city.  "For 
several  months/'  says  Miss  Kirk  in  the  touch- 
ing sketch  of  her  life  that  serves  as  introduction 
to  "Suwanee  River  Tales/'  "she  sent  letters  to 
a  Boston  paper  from  Rome  and  Florence,  view- 
ing the  sacred  monuments  of  art  with  keen  en- 
thusiasm, and  with  not  a  little  of  the  not-to-be- 
overawed  spirit  of  Western  Young  America/' 
Indeed,  these  letters,  whose  humor  and  bright- 
ness are  always  attractive,  though  sometimes 
almost  flippant,  give  evidence  of  the  intense  en- 
joyment she  derived  from  travel ;  and  we  cannot 
doubt  that  this  visit  to  Europe  contributed  to 
the  undistorted  development  of  the  young  au- 
thor. Her  best  work  belongs  to  the  period  after 
her  return. 

At  the  suggestion  of  Longfellow,  she*  deter- 
mined now  to  attempt  a  longer  story  than  she 


102  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

had  yet  dope.  "He  had  at  first  urged  her,"  says 
Miss  Kirk,  "to  throw  upon  a  broader  canvas 
some  of  her  more  recent  experience ;  but,  after 
hesitating  a  little,  Sherwood  Bonner  decided  to 
keep  to  the  ground  she  knew  best  and,  in  her 
heart,  loved  best ;  and,  reading  her  faithful,  sun- 
ny picture  of  Southern  village  life,  her  adviser 
acknowledged  that  she  was  right."'  This  was 
"Like  Unto  Like,"  the  story  already  alluded  to. 
Although  many  of  the  comments  were  apprecia- 
tive, yet  it  did  not  meet  with  a  reception  as  flat- 
tering as  the  author  and  her  friends  had  hoped 
for,  and  she  seemed  to  have  chafed  under  the 
criticisms  which  were  made  upon  it.  She  felt  as 
a  young  writer  is  apt  to  feel  under  the  circum- 
stances :  that  her  critics  did  not  make  due  allow- 
ance for  the  'prentice  hand.  Yet,  though  it  did 
not  fulfill  all  her  hopes,  it  was  by  no  means  lost 
labor.  Aside  from  the  real  worth  of  the  story 
itself,  the  necessity  for  sustained  effort  was  of 
great  disciplinary  value,  and  had  much  to  do 
with  the  superior  work  of  her  later  short  stories. 
For  although  Sherwood  Bonner  had  an  immense 
capacity  for  work  under  the  stimulus  of  deep  in- 
terest or  of  necessity,  she  followed  the  fancy  of 
the  mdment  for  the  most  part,  and  had  never 
learned  to  make  the  most  of  her  time  and  pow- 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  103 

ers  by  method  and  habit,  which  are  so  necessary 
for  less  gifted  workers.  It  is  said  that  she  was 
"utterly  regardless  of  regular  hours  for  eating, 
sleeping,  or  anything  else ;"  and  it  is  not  unrea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  such  disobedience  to 
the  laws  of  life  had  something  to  do  with  the 
failure  of  her  magnificent  physical  health.  Her 
stories  would  sometimes  be  put  off  till  the  last 
moment,  and  then  written  with  astonishing 
rapidity.  Several  of  them  were  written  in  a  sin- 
gle night  and,  it  seems,  published  without  re- 
vision. She  lacked,  as  we  have  seen,  the  cor- 
rective influence  of  a  thorough  education ;  and 
her  remarkable  quickness,  freeing  her  from  the 
necessity  of  regular  application,  had  neutralized 
the  disciplinary  value  of  the  education  she  had. 
So  likewise  her  short  stories  had  not  required 
more  sustained  effort  than  she  was  naturally  dis- 
posed to  make.  But  such  irregular  effort  did  not 
suffice  for  the  different  and  more  difficult  task  of 
writing  a  novel,  and  the  inferiority  of  "Like  Unto 
Like"  to  the  short  stories  may  be  attributed  in 
part  at  least  to  this  fact.  It  must  not  be  imag- 
ined, however,  from  what  has  been  said  that  she 
was  careless  of  literary  excellence  or  habitually 
published  without  revision.  On  the  contrary, 
"to  make  the  next  better"  was  her  constant  eh- 


104  SHERWOOD   BONNER. 

deavor.  She  wrote  and  rewrote  each  tale,  striv- 
ing especially  after  compression,  and  sometimes 
in  her  desire  not  to  say  too  much  failing  to  per- 
ceive that  she  had  not  said  quite  enough."  After 
"Like  Unto  Like"  she  published  another  novel- 
ette, called  "The  Valcours,"  which  appeared  in 
Lippifwott's,  September  to  December,  1881. 

No  one  who  was  living  in  Mississippi  in  1878 
will  ever  forget  the  yellow  fever  epidemic  of  that 
fatal  year.  Yellow  fever  varies  in  type  with  every 
epidemic,  and  is  frequently  very  mild ;  but  even 
then  it  spreads  consternation  throughout  the 
stricken  region.  In  1878,  however,  the  type  was 
virulent,  and  when  -it  was  declared  to  exist  in 
New  Orleans  frightened  people,  many  of  them 
already  poisoned,  scattered  to  all  the  outlying 
districts.  The  refugees  were  harbored  by  heroic 
or  heedless  friends,  and  so  the  disease  spread  to 
small  towns  and  country  neighborhoods  all  over 
the  adjoining  States — to  many  places  which  it 
had  never  before  invaded  and  which  lacked 
nurses  and  everything  else  necessary  for  treat- 
ment. In  this  way  the  plague  had  reached  the 
little  town  of  Grenada,  a  hundred  miles  south  of 
Holly  Springs.  With  a  fatal  heroism  the  people 
of  Holly  Springs  threw  open  their  doors  to  the 
refugees  from  their  sister  town,  and  early  in 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  105 

September  the  fever  broke  out  in  their  own 
midst.  Then  came  the  p.anic.  Let  one  read  the 
description  of  such  a  panic  in  Mr.  James  Lane 
Allen's  "King  Solomon  of  Kentucky/'  Here  is 
Sherwood  Bonner's  own  description:  "A  panic 
— do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  Did  you  ever 
see  people  flying  from  a  burning  house?  Can 
you  imagine  the  streets  of  a  city  in  which  a  pack 
of  wild  beasts  had  just  been  turned  loose?  All 
you  can  have  seen  or  imagined  of  sudden  and 
deadly  peril  is  as  nothing  compared  to  the  flight 
of  a  people  from  a  plague-stricken  place. 
Trunks  were  packed  hastily  with  such  articles 
as  came  nearest  to  hand;  houses  were  left  un- 
locked, unguarded:  In  the  streets  carriages, 
buggies,  wagons,  anything  on  wheels,  hurried 
along,  loaded  down  with  those  who,  from  lack 
of  money  or  any  other  reason,  could  not  get 
away  by  rail.  Dearest  friends  passed  each  other 
with  only  a  hand  grip  or  a  broken  'God  bless 
you!'  as  they  parted,  fearing  never  to  meet 
again.  ...  So  the  town  was  left  with  the  sick, 
the  dying,  the  poor  who  could  not  leave,  and  the 
few  who  would  not."  Northern  newspapers 
blazed  with  such  headlines  as  "Bronze  John  Still 
Mowing  the  Harvest/'  "The  Breath  of  the  Fiery 
Dragon,"  "No  Light  in  the  East,"  "The  Wrath 


I°  SHERWOOD    r.ONNKK. 

of  God  Unbroken,"  and  their  columns  teemed 
with  the  horrors  of  the  plague  or  lists  of  the 
dead.  In  this  time  of  peril  and  panic  there  were 
brave  souls  who  remained  to  face  the  danger — 
physicians,  ministers,  nurses,  and  sometimes 
those  whom  family  ties  did  not  permit  to  leave. 
Sherwood  Bonner,  in  the  account  of  the  plague 
quoted  from  above,  has  commemorated  some 
of  the  deeds  of  heroism  done  in  Holly  Springs 
in  that  dreadful  time,  but  she  does  not  hint  at 
her  own  heroic  deed.  Dr.  Bonner  was  now  an 
old  man,  and  had  not  been  a  practicing  physician 
for  many  years ;  but,  true  to  the  spirit  of  his 
profession,  he  decided  to  remain  in  the  fever- 
stricken  place.  His  son  Sam,  now  a  young  man, 
remained  with  him.  Mrs.  McDowell,  with  her 
little  daughter,  was  safe  in  New  England.  There 
were  a  thousand  reasons  why  she  should  not  put 
herself  in  danger.  Her  friends  begged  her  not 
to  risk  a  life  so  important  to  her  child :  "it  was 
useless,  it  was  foolish."  But  her  brave  heart 
could  listen  to  no  excuse.  Leaving  her  daugh- 
ter in  a  place  of  safety,  she  hastened  to  the  side 
of  her  father  and  brother.  When  they  were 
stricken  she  nursed  them  tenderly  and  smoothed 
their  dying  pillows.  But  let  us  draw  a  curtain 
over  the  horrors  in  the  midst  of  which  she  then 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  107 

lived.  "No  description,"  wrote  poor  Irwin  Rus- 
sell, who  faced  the  epidemic  in  another  Missis- 
sippi town,  "can  convey  a  tithe  of  the  reality." 

In  the  old  English  epic  we  read:  "Fortune 
often  rescues  the  unfated  warrior,  provided  that 
his  courage  is  sound."  It  may  have  been  her 
stout  Anglo-Saxon  courage  that  brought  off  the 
young  writer  unscathed ;  but  at  any  rate  she 
escaped  the  fell  disease  and,  eluding  the  quaran- 
tine, returned  worn  and  grief-stricken  to  her 
friends  in  the  East.  Later  she  wrote  the  account 
of  the  plague  that  has  been  mentioned  for  the 
Youth's  Companion,  and  in  1879  there  appeared  in 
Harper's  Monthly  a  story  of  the  epidemic,  called 
"The  Revolution  in  the  Life  of  Mr.  Ballingall," 
over  her  signature. 

Every  experience  of  her  life  seems  to  have 
furnished  her  material  for  literature,  and  she  al- 
ways chose  phases  of  life  which  she  knew  thor- 
oughly for  the  background  of  her  work.  Her 
surroundings  in  early  childhood  and  youth  gave 
her  the  setting  for  her  negro  dialect  stories  and 
stories  of  Southern  life  generally ;  her  sojourn 
in  Texas  furnished  the  scene  for  a  few  stories, 
and  some  stories  reflect  the  experience  of  her 
European  trip.  And  now  she  spent  some  time 
(beginning  in  1880)  in  that  portion  of  Illinois 


1O8  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

known  as  Egypt.  Here  she  found  material  for 
some  of  her  best  work :  the  stories  called  "On 
the  Nine-Mile"  and  "Sister  Weeden's  Prayer." 
In  the  same  year  she  was  for  a  while  in  the  Ten- 
nessee mountains,  and  this  sojourn  left  its  mark 
in  such  stories  as  "The  Case  of  Eliza  Bleylock." 
All  the  work  of  this  period  shows  growth  and  an 
advance  toward  the  artist's  perfect  mastery  of 
her  materials.  It  had  never  been  difficult  for  her 
to  secure  publishers,  and  in  these  years  her  sig- 
nature was  sufficient  guarantee  for  the  quality 
of  her  work.  The  critics  in  the  newspapers  and 
literary  periodicals  began  to  recognize  her  abil- 
ity and  to  call  her  the  "George  Eliot  of  Amer- 
ican letters/'5  and  like  names.  In  fact,  every- 
thing pointed  to  success.  In  1882  she  had  al- 
ready conceived  and  was  ready  to  execute  a 
work  more  ambitious  than  any  she  had  before 
done.  She  looked  on  her  previous  work,  in- 
cluding "Like  Unto  Like,"  as  merely  part  of  her 
preparation,  and  now  she  was  ready  to  reap  the 
fruit  of  her  long  training. 

But  disease  already  had  its  fatal  hold  on  that 
splendid  physique.  After  a  medical  examina- 
tion, she  insisted  on  hearing  the  whole  truth 
from  the  physician;  and  when  told  that  she 
could  not  hope,  to  live  more  than  a  year, 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  109 

she  faced  this  death  sentence  with  the  same 
courage  with  which  she  had  faced  the  plague 
in  1878.  She  resolved  to  complete  the  work 
she  had  conceived,  and  hastened  back  to  the 
East  to  make  the  most  of  her  short  remain- 
ing time.  Though  she  was  unable  to  write 
the  book  she  had  projected,  she  worked  on  to 
the  very  last  so  cheerfully  and  bravely  that  only 
a  few  of  her  most  intimate  friends  knew  of  the 
shadow  of  death  that  hung  over  her.  In  this 
time  she  collected  some  of  the  stories  that  had 
been  published  in  various  periodicals,  and  con- 
tinued to  write  with  the  energy  and  conscien- 
tiousness that  belonged  to  her  character.  And 
she  was  able  by  this  industry  to  buy  out  other 
interests  in  the  family  home  and  leave  it  to  her 
daughter. 

On   February   14,    1883,  she  wrote  and  pub- 
lished in  the  Youth's  Companion, 

A  LONGED-FOR  VALENTINE. 

Come  to  my  aching  heart,  my  weary  soul, 

And  give  my  thoughts  once  more  their  vanquished  will ; 

That  I  may  strive  and  feel  again  the  thrill 

Of  bounding  life,  to  reach  its  furthest  goal. 

Not  love,  though  sweet  as  that  which  Launcelot  stole, 

Nor  beauty,  happy  as  a  dimpling  rill, 

Nor  gold,  poured  out  from  some  fond  miser's  till, 


HO  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

Nor  yet  a  name  on  fame's  immortal  scroll ; 
But  what  I  ask,  ah  gracious  Lord,  from  thee, 
If  to  thy  throne  my  piteous  cry  can  reach, 
When  stricken  down,  like  tempest-riven  tree, 
Too  low  for  prayer  to  wreak  itself  in  speech, 
Is  the  fair  gift — ah  !  will  it  e'er  be  mine  ? — 
My  long-lost  health  to  be  my  Valentine. 

When  the  end  was  near  she  came  home  to  die 
in  Holly  Springs.  With  a  rare  devotion,  worthy 
of  the  friend  to  whom  it  was  given,  Miss  Kirk, 
the  author  of  the  preface  to  "Suwanee  River 
Tales,"  came  with  her  and  stayed  by  her  to  the 
end.  Not  even  now  did  Sherwood  Bonner  give 
up  her  courage  or  her  work,  and  continued  to 
dictate  to  her  amanuensis  till  within  four  days  of 
her  death.  She  died  July  22,  1883,  and  is  buried 
in  the  family  lot  at  Holly  Springs. 

So  ended  the  brief  career  of  one  who,  for  her 
successful  experiments  in  fields  of  literature  till 
then  untouched,  for  the  profound  impression  she 
created  by  her  remarkable  personality,  and  for 
the  rich  promise  of  the  work  she  did,  holds  an 
important  place  among  the  writers  of  the  new 
Southern  school. 

It  is,  however,  useless  to  speculate  about  what 
she  would  have  achieved  if  she  had  lived,  and  the 
work  accomplished  has  intrinsic  merit  enough 
to  claim  our  attention. 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  I  I  I 

Her  most  ambitious  work  is  the  novelette 
"Like  Unto  Like,"  published  in  Harper  Broth- 
ers' "Library  of  Select  Fiction/'  This  is  a  faith- 
ful and  remarkably  unbiased  story  of  the  "recon- 
struction" period.  As  a  pioneer  in  this  field  she 
achieved  no  mean  success.  As  one  of  her  critics 
said,  after  her  death,  "She  was  a  simple  natural- 
ist in  art,  with  a  strong  hand  and  a  delicate 
touch ;"  and  with  characteristic  reserve  she  has 
chosen  the  everyday  life  of  the  people,  and  not 
the  extraordinary  and  sensational  episodes  of 
the  time,  to  furnish  the  matter  for  her  story.  It 
is  perhaps  due  also,  in  part,  to  this  reserve  that 
the  plot  of  the  story  has  not  that  absorbing  in- 
terest the  lack  of  which  is  the  chief  defect  of  the 
work.  One  cannot  help  feeling  a  sense  of  dis- 
appointment at  the  slightness  of  the  plot.  In  in- 
dividual scenes  and  in  the  details  of  execution 
the  story  shows  considerable  power.  Her  style 
is  simple  and  clear  to  a  remarkable  degree,  and 
possesses  a  vivacity  which  readily  obtains  for- 
giveness for  an  occasional  word  or  phrase  that 
might  offend  a  purist. 

Nor  does  she  display  less  mastery  in  the  de- 
scription of  natural  scenery,  with  reference  to 
which  we  cannot  do  better  than  quote  Paul 
Hayne.  'The  descriptions  of  scenery,"  he  says, 


112  SHERWCTOD    BONNER. 

"which  in  most  novels  bore  one  unspeakably,  are 
here  vivid,  picturesque,  and  truthful,  with  occa- 
sional displays  of  bright,  poetic  enthusiasm." 
As  these  descriptive  passages  are  more  easily 
detachable,  a  few  sentences  from  the  opening  of 
"Like  Unto  Like"  may  serve  to  give  some  idea 
of  her  style,  as  well  as  an  example  of  her  de- 
scriptive power.  She  thus  pictures  a  scene  near 
"Yariba :"  "At  a  little  distance,  higher  than  the 
level  of  the  bridge,  the  town  nestled,  so  shad- 
owed by  trees  as  to  seem  nothing  but  spires  and 
chimneys.  The  stream  flowed  out  from  bubbling 
springs  among  the  rocks.  Over  their  jagged 
edges  the  water  fell  in  light  spray,  through  which 
rainbows  shone  on  sunny  days.  Along  its  bor- 
ders were  stretches  of  woodland  reaching  to  low 
ranges  of  mountains  that  rolled  away  to  the 
south  in  graceful  sweep  and  outline,  and  were 
crowned  now  with  lingering  splendors  of  red 
and  gold." 

In  her  delineations  of  character  she  is  original 
— that  is,  she  goes  directly  to  nature  for  her 
models.  In  fact,  so  great  is  her  simplicity  and 
fidelity  that  a  casual  reading  often  fails  to  reveal 
the  fine  artistic  perception  with  which  the  details 
have  been  selected  and  grouped.  The  characters 
in  "Like  Unto  Like"  are  quite  numerous,  and 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  11$ 

they  are  drawn  with  great  distinctness,  some  of 
them  with  no  little  power.  The  heroine,  Blythe 
Herndon,  and  her  two  friends  'become  as  real 
and  distinct  to  the  reader  of  the  story  as  personal 
acquaintances.  Blythe's  grandmother  is  por- 
trayed, as  Paul  Hayne  remarks,  "with  a  degree 
of  tragic  force  decidedly  impressive;"  and  the 
most  unlike  characters  are  delineated  with  equal 
skill.  Not  only  are  indvidual  characters  made 
quite  lifelike,  but  even  when  they  are  used  as 
typical  of  Northern  and  Southern  feeling  and 
character  they  do  not  lose  their  individuality  and 
degenerate  into  mere  types;  so  Ellis  and  Van 
Tolliver,  Col.  Dexter  and  the  rest,  do  not  lose 
their  simple  humanity  because  they  represent 
typical  phases  of  Northern  or  Southern  life.  Her 
insight  into  the  human  heart  and  her  disregard 
of  all  merely  conventional  distinctions  are  illus- 
trated by  the  sympathetic  drawings  of  characters 
so  diverse  as  Roger  Ellis,  the  radical,  and  Squire 
Barton  ;  "Civil  Rights  Bill"  and  Mrs.  Roy,  rep- 
resentatives of  the  "little  nigger"  and  "poor  white 
trash/'  as  they  would  call  each  other.  Indeed, 
there  is  nothing  more  notable  about  her  work 
than  this  breadth  of  view  which  enabled  her  to 
surmount  the  prejudices  of  the  South  without 
imbibing  those  of  the  North. 
8 


114  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

The  same  characteristic  is  illustrated  in  her 
attitude  toward  religion.  She  is  said  to  have  de- 
scribed herself  as  a  "happy  heathen,"  by  which 
she  probably  meant  only  that  she  had  ceased  to 
look  at  life  through  the  theological  spectacles  of 
her  forefathers.  Yet  we  find  her  treating  all  sin- 
cere Christian  belief  and  practice  with  the  ut- 
most respect  and  reverence.  And  in  her  very 
catholicity  we  can  see  that  she  had  caught  the 
essential  spirit  of  Christianity.  Indeed,  by  the 
very  nobility  of  her  own  nature  she  was  in  sym- 
pathy with  all  that  is  noble  and  true ;  and  the 
motives  of  her  stories  are  the  same  simple  ones 
that  underlie  all  great  work  from  the  "Iliad"  to 
"Adam  Bede" — honor  and  love  that  conquer 
death.  She  has  left  us  nothing  meretricious  or 
sensational.  Her  reserve  is  no  less  remarkable 
and  no  less  admirable  than  her  power  and  her 
technical  skill.  But  though  the  slightness  of  the 
plot  in  "Like  Unto  Like"  may  be  in  part  due  to 
this  desire  not  to  overstep  the  mark,  one  can 
hardly  avoid  the  conclusion  that  the  author  did 
not  have  the  complete  mastery  of  the  various 
threads  of  her  story.  The  complication  is  very 
well  managed,  but  the  solution  cuts  the  knot 
rather  than  unties  it.  In  some  of  her  short  sto- 
ries she  has  much  better  plots;  but  hers  is  not 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  115 

the  only  instance  of  a  writer  who,  though  man- 
aging the  plot  of  a  short  story  very  well,  is  not 
equal  to  the  greater  difficulties  of  a  novel  plot. 
In  'Two  Storms/'  written  in  later  years,  the  plot 
is  very  well  managed ;  and  a  study  of  that  story 
will  justify  the  inference  that  Sherwood  Bonner 
was  gaining  mastery  of  her  material.  It  must 
be  said,  however,  that  she  has  not  demonstrated 
her  ability  to  make  an  adequate  plot  for  a  novel, 
unless  it  be  in  "The  Valcours,"  which,  being  inac- 
cessible, has  not  been  considered  in  this  estimate. 
Most  of  Sherwood  Bonner's  work,  indeed,  first 
appeared  in  the  newspapers  and  magazines,  and 
her  letters,  her  early  stories,  and  even  some  of 
the  more  important  later  ones — as  "Two 
Storms,"  "A  Volcanic  Interlude,"  and  others — 
are  lost  in  the  files  of  these  publications.  It  may 
be  mentioned,  by  the  way,  that  the  description 
of  Longfellow's  home  in  "Poets'  Homes," 
though  by  Sherwood  Bonner,  is  not  there  cred- 
ited to  her. 

From  the  oblivion  of  newspaper  files,  how- 
ever, two  volumes  have  been  rescued.  The  vol- 
ume called  "Suwanee  River  Tales/'  which  was 
prepared  for  the  press  by  the  author  in  the  last 
months  of  her  life  and  published  after  her  death 
(Roberts  Brothers,  Boston,  1884),  contains  three 


Il6  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

groups  of  stories,  called,  respectively,  "Gran'- 
mammy,"  "Four  Sweet  Girls  of  Dixie,"  and  "A 
Ring  of  Tales  for  Younger  Folks."  The  first 
consists  of  reminiscences  of  tfie  "black  mammy" 
who  had  tended  her  in  childhood,  selected  with 
the  finest  artistic  sense  and  told  with  great  ten- 
derness. The  humor  and  pathos  of  these  stories 
have  hardly  been  equaled  in  other  Southern  sto- 
ries. The  four  bright  stories  in  the  next  group 
give  us  some  sunny  pictures  from  the  life  of 
Southern  girls,  such  as  Sherwood  Bonner  had 
known  in  her  own  girlhood.  The  last  group  is 
more  miscellaneous :  two  or  three  stories  were 
evidently  suggested  by  her  European  trip;  one 
seems  to  belong  to  her  stay  in  the  Tennessee 
mountains ;  the  rest  give  us  vignettes  of  South- 
ern life. 

Although  the  volume  called  "Dialect  Tales" 
(Harper  Brothers,  New  York,  1883)  appeared 
before  "Suwanee  River  Tales,"  the  most  of  the 
stories  are  later.  If  we  except  the  humorous  ex- 
travagances, "The  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar,"  "Hi- 
eronymus  Pop  and  the  Baby,"  and  perhaps  "The 
Bran  Dance  at  the  Apple  Settlement,"  and  the 
slight  but  humorous  "Dr.  Jex's  Predicament," 
and  "Jack  and  the  Mountain  Pink,"  we  may  pro- 
nounce the  other  six  stories  the  strongest  work 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  H? 

of  our  author.  "Aunt  Anniky's  Teeth'*  is  one 
of  the  best  purely  humorous  negro  dialect  sto- 
ries that  has  been  written ;  and  the  two  stories 
of  the  Illinois  prairie,  "On  the  Nine-Mile"  and 
"Sister  Weeden's  Prayer,"  are  strong  studies  of 
the  simple  human  nature  of  that  rural  district, 
with  both  lights  and  shadows  clearly  brought 
out.  "In  Aunt  Mely's  Cabin"  and  the  two  stories 
of  the  Tennessee  mountains,  "The  Case  of  Eliza 
Bleylock"  and  "Lame  Jerry,"  are  tragedies  none 
the  less  powerful  because  the  actors  are  ignorant 
mountaineers  or  poor  whites.  And  these,  too, 
are  sometimes  brightened  by  flashes  of  charac- 
teristic humor. 

Humor  has  been  called  Sherwood  Bonner's 
greatest  gift.  It  pervades  and  colors  her  whole 
work.  She  runs  the  whole  gamut  from  the  well- 
turned  pun  or  the  mere  perception  of  comicality 
to  the  point  where  humor  passes  into  pathos 
as  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  more  serious  incon- 
gruities of  life.  It  was  this  gift  which  especially 
fitted  her  for  dialect-writing.  Dialect  is  the  out- 
ward and  visible  sign  of  the  circumscribed  life  of 
the  provincial.  It  has  always  its  pathetic  and  its 
humorous  side ;  and  the  written  dialect,  if  it  is 
genuine,  must  reflect  one  or  both  of  these,  or 
else,  no  matter  how  accurate  it  is  phonetically, 


n8  SHERWOOD    BONNER. 

it  can  be  of  no  literary  or  human  interest.  Al- 
though it  may  be  granted  that  Sherwood  Bon- 
ner's  dialect  is  not  always  phonetically  accurate, 
and  it  is  not  always  even  consistent,  yet  it  is  true 
that  she  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  dialect  and 
uses  it  for  its  legitimate  purpose,  to  reveal  the  life 
of  which  it  is  the  exponent.  In  this  she  perhaps 
has  no  superior,  and  not  more  than  one  equal, 
among  the  Southern  dialect-writers  of  the  last 
thirty  years. 

It  is  proper  to  remark  here  that  this  young 
writer,  who  was  generally  so  sane  and  self-re- 
strained, was  sometimes  carried  away  by  her 
humor.  There  are  a  few  of  her  stories,  like  "The 
Gentlemen  of  Sarsar,"  which  are  not  faithful 
sketches  of  the  Southern  life  which  she  knew  so 
well,  but  caricatures — well  drawn  and  full  of 
spirit,  it  is  true,  but  caricatures  none  the  less — of 
Southern  life.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the  char- 
acter of  these  pieces  has  not  been  everywhere 
perceived.  "The  Gentlemen  of  Sarsar/'  for  ex- 
ample, extravagant  as  is  its  humor,  has  been 
called  by  a  critic  in  Harper's  Weekly  "a 'bright 
and  faithful  picture  of  Southern  life." 

Nor  is  her  pathos  less  successful  than  her 
humor.  It  is  never  overdone ;  it  never  becomes 
sentimental.  But  her  young  life,  bright  and  joy- 


SHERWOOD    BONNER.  119 

ous  as  it  was,  had  looked  deep  into  the  mystery 
and  sorrow  of  the  universe,  and  had  learned  to 
beat  in  sympathy  with  the  humblest  human 
heart.  And  it  is  out  of  this  healthy  human  sym- 
pathy that  her  pathos  is  born. 

And  this  may  be  said  of  her  work  as  a  whole. 
It  sprang  from  the  experience  of  a  noble  and 
healthy  soul.  It  is  full  of  fine  enthusiasm,  of 
humor  and  pathos,  and  of  gentle  satire  that 
dwelt  in  her,  and  it  carries  with  it  some  sug- 
gestion of  that  wonderful  personal  charm  which 
the  gifted  young  writer  cast  upon  all  who  sur- 
rounded her. 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE. 

BY  EDWIN    MIMS. 

THREE  types  of  men  may  be  distinguished 
among  those  who  have  written  in  the  South 
since  the  war — the  poet,  the  critic,  and  the 
romancer.  Sidney  Lanier,  reader  of  Goethe 
and  Emerson  and  disciple  of  Wordsworth, 
Keats,  and  Tennyson,  has  represented  in  terms 
of  art  the  striving  after  ideals  of  excellence  not 
hitherto  cherished  by  the  people  of  this  section. 
In  his  conscientious  devotion  to  art,  and  in  his 
fine  interpretations  of  the  spiritual  life,  he  was  a 
prophet  of  a  new  age  just  now  beginning. 

There  is  no  one  who  stands  out  so  pre- 
eminent as  a  critic;  we  have  not  yet  developed 
just  the  type  of  critic  Matthew  Arnold  speaks  of : 
"the  man  of  nicest  discernment  in  matters  in- 
tellectual, moral,  aesthetic,  social ;  of  perfect 
equipoise  of  powers ;  of  delicately  pervasive 
sympathy;  of  imaginative  insight;  who  grasps 
comprehensively  the  whole  life  of  his  time ;  who 
feels  its  vital  tendencies."  There  have  been  men 
— scholars  and  editors — in  different  parts  of  the 
South  who  have  tried  to  create  a  fresh  current  of 
ideas  and  who  have  exercised  the  free  play  of 
*  (120) 


THOMAS    NELSON    PAGE.  121 

critical  intelligence  in  the  study  of  the  problems 
of  the  South.  They  have  insisted  not  so  much 
on  what  the  South  has  been  or  is,  but  what  she 
ought  to  be ;  they  have  had  much  to  say  of  the 
provincialism,  the  primitiveness,  the  sensitiveness 
of  the  Southern  people,  their  inaccessibility  to 
ideas,  their  conservatism.  Such  a  man  is  Prof. 
Trent,  who,  though  often  drastic  and  unsympa- 
thetic, has  written  with  rare  penetration  and  in- 
sight of  Southern  history  and  conditions.  Such 
also  was  the  late  Prof.  Baskervill,  whose  sympa- 
thetic nature  and  broad  culture  had  marked  him 
for  a  most  useful  man  in  the  development  of  the 
intellectual  life  of  the  South. 

Different  from  the  poet  and  the  critic  is  the 
romancer  who  finds  in  the  past  the  inspiration 
of  his  art,  and  would  fain  preserve  the  traditions 
and  legends  of  a  bygone  age.  Mr.  Page,  by 
birth,  training,  temperament,  is  in  thorough 
sympathy  with  the  ante-bellum  South,  and  in  the 
new  life  springing  up  all  about  him  he  has  en- 
deavored to  preserve  what  is  most  noteworthy 
in  a  civilization  that  seems  to  him  "the  sweetest, 
purest,  and  most  beautiful  ever  lived."  He 
would  have  us  not  "to  forget  the  old  radiance  in 
the  new  glitter,"  believing  with  Burke  that  peo- 
ple will  never  look  forward  to  posterity  who 


122  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

never  look  backward  to  their  ancestors.  He 
is  perhaps  aware  of  the  limitations  of  that  life— 
not  so  much  as  the  poet  or  the  critic — but  seeing 
it  with  something  of  modern  breadth,  he  loves  it, 
idealizes  it,  and  would  preserve  it  as  a  record  of 
the  past  and  as  an  inspiration  for  the  future.  He 
may  not  have  occupied  some  one  field  as  well  as 
Cable  or  Harris  or  Craddock,  but  more  than 
any  of  the  other  story-writers  he  has  taken  for 
his  field  no  less  than  the  life  of  the  people  of 
the  whole  South.  Himself  a  typical  Southern 
gentleman,  modest,  generous,  well-bred,  lover 
of  good  stories,  he  has,  by  his  mastery  of  the 
short  story  and  his  gifts  of  humor  and  pathos, 
delineated  the  life  of  the  people  he  loves  so  well. 

If  in  the  preceding  paragraph  I  had  substi- 
tuted "Virginian"  for  "Southern,"  I  should  have 
been  nearer  the  truth,  perhaps,  for  it  is  always 
of  Virginia  that  Mr.  Page  writes.  The  title  of 
his  most  significant  book  is  "In  Ole  Virginia," 
and  the  background  of  nearly  all  his  stories  is  in 
old  Hanover.  Attention  has  been  recently  called 
to  the  difference  between  the  Southern  States — 
between  Georgia  and  Virginia,  for  instance,  or 
Tennessee  and  South  Carolina.  The  difference 
may  be  seen  in  the  writings  of  Page  and  Harris. 
In  the  writings  of  the  latter  there  is  a  raciness, 


THOMAS  NELSON   PAGE.  123 

a  freshness  that  is  almost  American  in  its  scope ; 
in  those  of  the  former  we  are  always  in  con- 
servative, aristocratic  Virginia.  Indeed,  he 
takes  as  much  pride  in  his  State  as  did  any  of  his 
ancestors.  In  an  article  in  Harper's  Magazine 
for  December,  1893,  he  writes  in  an  interesting 
way  of  the  Old  Dominion,  her  history,  Her  dis- 
tinguished men,  her  historic  scenes.  He  quotes 
with  evident  pride  the  words  of  Thackeray : 

"The  Virginian?  What  is  he  good  for?  I 
always  thought  he  was  good  for  nothing  but  to 
cultivate  tobacco  and  my  grandmother/  says  my 
lord,  laughing. 

"She  struck  her  hand  upon  the  table  with  an 
energy  that  made  the  glasses  ring.  'I  say  he 
was  the  best  of  you  all.' ' 

What  Scott  said  of  the  Scotchman  is  also  true 
of  the  Virginian :  "He  has  a  pedigree.  It  is  a 
national  prerogative  as  inalienable  as  his  pride 
and  his  poverty."  Few  Virginians  can  trace 
their  lineage  to  more  distinguished  ancestors 
than  the  subject  of  this  sketch.  In  his  two  es- 
says, "Two  Old  Colonial  Places"  and  <TLife  in 
Colonial  Virginia,"  he  has  written  with  much 
delicacy  and  yet  genuine  pride  of  the  Nelsons 
and  the  Pages  and  the  historic  mansions  in  which 
they  lived  in  Revolutionary  times.  Thomas 


124  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

Nelson  came  from  the  Scotch  border  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  estab- 
lished himself  in  what  is  known  as  the  Nelson 
House,  in  Yorktown,  one  of  the  finest  of  the 
colonial  houses,  noted  for  its  brilliant  receptions 
and  the  assembling  there  of  many  distinguished 
statesmen.  William  Nelson,  the  son  of  the 
founder,  was  President  of  the  Council  of  Vir- 
ginia ;  and  his  son,  Thomas  Nelson,  who  in  his 
younger  days  was  a  deskmate  of  Charles  James 
Fox  at  Eton  and  won  distinction  at  Cambridge, 
is  noted  as  a  "signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, War  Governor  of  Virginia,  and  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  of  that  body  of  great  men 
who  stand  a  splendid  galaxy  in  the  firmament  of 
our  nation's  history." 

The  Page  family,  originally  lords  of  the  manor 
in  Middlesex,  came  to  America  in  1656,  along 
with  many  other  Cavaliers  who  left  England 
during  the  reign  of  the  Puritans.  In  1725  Rose- 
well  was  built  by  Mann  Page  at  great  cost  and 
with  much  attention  to  architectural  details, 
most  of  the  material  being  brought  from  En- 
gland. The  whole  place  is  quick  with  memories 
of  the  romances  and  the  stirring  incidents  of  the 
Revolution.  Very  precious  in  the  eyes  of  the 
latest  descendant  is  this  fine  old  mansion,  as  it 


THOMAS    NELSON    PAGE.  125 

still  stands,  "massive,  stark,  and  lonely,  a  solid 
cube  of  ninety  feet/'  with  its  magnificent  hall- 
way, its  grand  stairway,  and  valuable  relics  of 
colonial  times.  It  was  at  the  height  of  its  fame 
during  the  administration  of  Gov.  John  Page,  a 
man  of  much  culture  as  well  as  of  great  wealth. 
He,  like  Gov.  Nelson,  showed  the  truest  bravery 
in  the  Revolutionary  War,  sacrificing  much  of  his 
wealth  in  the  interest  of  the  colonies. 

The  estates  of  the  Pages  and  the  Nelsons  were 
only  a  few  miles  apart,  and  the  families  were 
closely  connected  by  intermarriages.  As  we 
come  down  the  century  we  find  that  the  two 
families  lost  much  of  their  wealth  and  social  in- 
fluence, though  none  of  their  true  gentility  and 
refinement.  The  father  of  Thomas  Nelson  Page 
was  the  grandson  of  Gov.  Page,  and  his  mother  is 
the  granddaughter  of  Gov.  Nelson.  He  thus  in- 
herits a  century  and  more  of  fine  traditions,  gen- 
uine culture,  and  the  best  blood  of  Virginia  gen- 
tlemen and  gentlewomen. 

His  father  was  a  man  of  fine  classical  at- 
tainments, fond  of  the  "heroic  hexameters"  and 
able  to  repeat  much  of  the  New  Testament  in 
Greek.  In  the  dedication  of  "Santa  Claus's 
Partner"  we  have  a  felicitous  tribute  of  son  to 
father :  'To  my  father,  who  among  all  men  the 


126  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

writer  knew  in  his  youth  was  the  most  "familiar 
with  books,  and  who  of  all  the  men  the  writer 
has  ever  known  has  exemplified  best  the  virtue 
of  open-handedness."  He  is  undoubtedly  the 
prototype  of  such  men  as  Dr.  Gary,  in  "Red 
Rock."  The  "Two  Little  Confederates"  is  dedi- 
cated to  the  authors  mother,  who  is  evidently 
the  heroine  of  that  delightful  book  and  the  in- 
carnation of  all  that  was  best  in  Southern  woman- 
hood. "How  beautiful  our  mothers  must  have 
been  in  their  youth,"  he  says,  "to  have  been  so 
beautiful  in  their  age !" 

His  early  life  was  spent  in  old  Hanover,  at 
Oakland,  one  of  the  estates  of  the  Nelsons.  He 
was  born  here  April  23,  1853.  We  have  descrip- 
tions of  the  old  home  in  "Two  Little  Confed- 
erates," "Social  Life  Before  the  War,"  and  "The 
Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock."  "Let  me 
see,"  he  says,  "if  I  can  describe  an  old  Virginia 
home  recalled  from  a  memory  stamped  with  it 
when  it  was  yet  a  virgin  page.  It  may  be  ideal- 
ized by  the  haze  of  time,  but  it  will  be  as  I  now 
remember  it."  He  speaks  of  the  house  as  a 
plain  weatherboard  building,  with  long  porches 
to  shelter  its  walls  from  the  sun  and  allow  house- 
life  in  the  open  air;  a  number  of  magnificent 
oaks  and  hickories;  the  orchard,  "in  springtime 


THOMAS    NELSON    PAGE.  127 

a  bower  of  pink  and  snow,"  beyond  which  peeped 
the  ample  barns  and  stables ;  the  servants'  quar- 
ters, the  garden,  the  far-extending  fields ;  "the 
roses  sending  their  fragrance  into  the  rooms 
from  garden  and  wall  and  yard."  It  is  no  won- 
der that  such  a  home  and  surroundings,  "steeped 
in  the  intense,  quivering  summer  moonlight, 
filled  the  soul  with  unspeakable  emotions  of 
beauty,  tenderness,  peace,  home.''  This  home 
of  his  boyhood  has  been  the  inspiration  of  much 
of  his  work,  and  the  image  of  it  was  in  his  mind 
when  he  delivered  his  recent  stern  denunciation 
of  some  tendencies  in  the  social  life  of  New 
York  and  Newport. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  effect  the 
coming  on  of  the  Civil  War  had  on  an  eager- 
hearted,  imaginative  boy  just  eight  years  old. 
Oakland  was  situated  between  two  roads  that 
led  on  to  Richmond,  and  something  interesting 
was  always  happening.  His  father  was  major 
on  the  staff  of  his  brother-in-law,  Gen.  Pendle- 
ton,  Gen.  Lee's  chief  of  artillery ;  and  many  of 
his  relatives,  after  resisting  secession,  became 
actively  identified  with  the  Confederate  army. 
In  the  "Burial  of  the  Guns"  we  have  a  vivid  ac- 
count of  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  from  the 
standpoint  of  an  older  man ;  but  the  real  impres- 


128  THOMAS  NELSON   PAGE. 

sion  made  on  young  Page  is  seen  in  "Two  Little 
Confederates"  and  "Among  the  Camps."  Thrill- 
ing were  the  experiences  through  which  Frank 
an'  Willie,  with  their  aids-de-camp,  Peter  and 
Cole,  passed — protecting  the  henhouses  at 
night,  carrying  food  to  the  soldiers,  capturing 
conscript  guards,  rounding  up  wild  hogs  when 
the  mother's  pantry  was  giving  out,  listening  to 
the  bombardment  of  a  near-by  city,  or,  more  ex- 
citing still,  watching  from  a  hill  an  actual  skir- 
mish, and  having  to  submit  to  the  intrusion  of 
Yankee  soldiers.  All  of  these  experiences  made 
a  lasting  impression  on  the  boy,  and  he  treasured 
them  up  for  future  days. 

The  Pages  suffered  all  the  burdens  of  war  and 
the  distressing  effects  of  reconstruction.  They 
were  reduced  to  very  limited  circumstances ; 
the  fields  once  teeming  with  life  stretched  before 
them  empty  and  silent.  The  home-coming  de- 
scribed in  "Red  Rock"  is  more  than  a  work  of 
fancy ;  it  is  a  reminiscence  of  the  past :  "They 
came  home  singly  or  in  squads,  and  but  for  cer- 
tain physical  marks  they  would  scarcely  have 
known  the  old  neighborhood.  The  bridges  were 
gone  and  the  fishing  holes  were  dammed  with 
fallen  trees,  some  of  them  cut  down  during  the 
battles  that  had  been  fought  on  their  banks. 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  1^9 

And  the  roads  made  by  the  army  wagons  often 
turned  out  through  the  unfenced  fields  and  the 
pillaged  and  fire-scorched  forests." 

If  the  family  was  reduced  to  plain  living,  there 
was  still  a  chance  for  high  thinking.  The  high- 
est ideal  of  the  father  was  that  the  boys  might 
be  educated,  and,  as  no  opportunity  was  offered 
for  their  preparation  for  college,  he  himself  in- 
structed them,  especially  in  the  classics.  He 
had  a  good  library  that  had  come  down  to  him 
from  his  cultured  grandfather  in  mellow  Elze- 
virs and  Lintots,  "the  classics,  Latin  and  Eng- 
lish, with  a  fair  sprinkling  of  French  authors, 
there  not  for  show  but  for  companionship." 

Page  at  a  very  early  age  read  the  Waverley 
Novels  and  the  Leather  Stocking  Tales,  both  of 
which  made  a  very  great  impression  on  him. 
One  may  detect  in  his  writings  a  fondness  for 
the  Spectator  Papers,  Goldsmith,  Don  Quixote, 
and  many  of  the  French  romances.  His  literary 
taste  is  strikingly  different  from  that  of  Lanier, 
now  and  throughout  his  life.  It  is  more  like 
that  of  the  colonial  gentleman. 

In  1869  he  entered  what  was  then  Washington 
College  and  is  now  Washington  and  Lee  Uni- 
versity, where  he  remained  till  June,  1872.  It 
was  undoubtedly  Gen.  Lee,  at  that  time  and  till 
9 


130  THOMAS  NELSON   PAGE. 

1870  president  of  the  college,  that  drew  him 
there.  In  a  recent  number  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  Mr.  Page  says :  "Their  idolized  general 
refused  all  proffers  of  aid  and  tenders  of  atten- 
tion, and  returned  to  the  little  college  town  of 
Lexington,  Va.,  to  devote  the  rest  of  his  life  to 
educating  the  young  men  of  the  South.  Gen. 
Washington  had  given  the  first  endowment  to 
the  college  there,  and  the  next  greatest  Virginian 
now  endowed  it  with  his  presence  and  spirit. 
Here  the  sons  of  his  old  soldiers  flocked,  to 
be  under  the  command  of  the  man  who  had  led 
their  fathers  in  battle  and  to  learn  from  his  life 
the  high  lesson  of  devotion  to  duty."  The  char- 
acter and  personality  of  Lee  were  no  doubt  the 
chiefest  influence  on  him,  and  strengthened  him 
in  his  devotion  to  the  South. 

Although  there  were  in  the  faculty  at  that  time 
the  late  William  Preston  Johnston  and  Dr.  E.  S. 
Joynes,  Page  seems  not  to  have  taken  a  great 
deal  of  interest  in  his  studies.  He  took  diplo- 
mas in  Latin  and  French,  but  spent  most  of  his 
time  in  desultory  reading  and  "scribbling,"  as 
he  modestly  puts  it.  He  was  editor  of  the  col- 
lege magazine  from  April  6  to  June,  1872,  giving 
evidence  of  a  fluent  style,  especially  in  a  paper 
purporting  to  come  from  his  "easy-chair."  He 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE.  131 

was  a  ready  speaker,  and  at  a  later  time  was 
much  in  demand  for  commencement  occasions. 
The  impression  made  upon  his  fellow-students 
may  be  seen  in  a  letter  written  by  Rev.  J.  R. 
Winchester,  of  St.  Louis :  "He  had  a  kindly  eye 
that  shone  with  the  luster  of  latent  friendships. 
His  broad  Virginia  accent  marked  his  geneal- 
ogy, and  from  the  first  he  took  his  place  as  a 
warm-hearted,  genial  gentleman  who  enjoyed 
a  good  joke  and  could  ever  be  depended  on, 
because  his  character  had  been  rooted  and 
grounded  in  Christian  principle." 

After  leaving  college,  he  went  to  Kentucky  as 
tutor  in  a  private  family  living  about  eight 
miles  from  Louisville.  While  here  he  wrote  for 
the  Louisville  Courier-Journal;  but,  not  caring  to 
teach,  he  decided  to  study  law,  and  so  went  to 
the  University  of  Virginia  (1873-4).  His  teach- 
er was  the  celebrated  John  B.  Minor,  who  "taught 
him  how  to  work/' 

After  finishing  the  two  years'  course  in  a  little 
over  one  year,  he  started  in  to  practice  law  in  the 
old  Hanover  circuit,  but  after  a  year — in  1876 — 
went  to  Richmond  to  take  a  desk  in  the  office  of 
his  cousin,  Henry  T.  Wickham,  attorney  for  the 
Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Railway.  Within  a  few 
months  he  had  sufficient  practice  to  support  him- 


132  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

self.  His  good  humor,  his  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  his  attractive  manners  won  friends 
and  clients.  Pie  was  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
what  he  has  so  well  described — "an  old  Vir- 
ginia lawyer."  "The  profession  of  Pendleton, 
Henry,  and  Wythe,  and  the  greatest  of  his  race 
and  kind,"  the  "profession  which  created  the 
liberties  of  men  and  preserved  the  rights  of 
man,"  had  many  charms  for  him,  as  for  so  many 
other  bright  Southern  men.  His  genealogy  and 
training  all  pointed*  in  that  direction. 

Gradually,  however,  other  ideals  began  to 
shape  themselves.  In  "The  Old  Gentleman  of 
the  Black  Stock"  he  has  presented  a  vivid  im- 
pression of  his  feelings  about  this  new  life  of  the 
city :  "I  remember  that  as  I  walked  that  morn- 
ing down  the  shaded,  quiet  street,  with  the  old 
square  houses  on  either  side  set  back  amid  trees 
in  their  back  yards,  I  had  forgotten  my  dreams 
of  the  future,  which  had  hitherto  gilded  my  lone 
little  room  and  peopled  my  quiet  office,  and  was 
back  among  the  overgrown  fence  rows  and  fields 
of  my  country  home."  That  which  attracts  him 
in  Richmond  is  the  old  quarter  of  the  town,  the 
colonial  houses ;  an  old  gentleman  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  olden  times ;  now  and  then  a 
country  carriage,  "antiquated  and  high  swung 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  133 

and  shackling,"  but  driven  by  an  old  gray-headed 
darky  and  full  of  "fresh,  young,  country  girls." 
Here  is  the  artistic  impulse  in  the  germ,  al- 
though it  has  not  yet  found  conscious  expres- 
sion. 

His  interest  in  the  plantation  life  before  the 
war  found  expression  first  in  the  many  stories 
he  told  to  his  friends  in  the  social  circle  in  which 
he  moved.  Mr.  Polk  Miller,  who  knew  him  well 
at  that  time,  says :  "In  the  social  circle  he  was  a 
great  favorite,  and,  having  the  ability  to  tell 
good  negro  stories,  and  his  association  being 
with  that  class  of  people  whose  parents  had  been 
large  owners  of  slaves  in  Virginia,  they  kept 
him  busy  telling  the  humorous  and  pathetic  side 
of  negro  life  on  the  plantations.  Every  one  tes- 
tified to  the  naturalness  and  truthfulness  of  the 
negro  character,  and  this  led  to  his  writing  short 
stories  from  time  to  time." 

All  through  his  life  he  had  shown  a  disposi- 
tion to  write.  Like  Cable  and  Harris,  he  began 
by  writing  for  the  newspapers.  It  was  in  the  air 
then  to  write — those  years  from  1876  to  1880, 
that  saw  the  emergence  of  a  well-defined  group 
of  Southern  writers.  Of  these,  the  leader  was 
Irwin  Russell.  "It  was  the  light  of  his  genius," 
Page  says,  "shining  through  his  dialect  poems, 


134  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

that  led  my  feet  in  the  direction  I  have  since 
tried  to  follow."  His  friend  A.  C.  Gordon  was 
also  writing  dialect  poems,  and  Page's  first  ef- 
forts were  in  this  direction,  his  poem  aUncle 
Gabe's  White  Folks"  appearing  in  Scribner's 
Magazine. 

His  most  distinctive  work  was  to  be  the  short 
story,  and  not  poetry,  and  his  first  story  was 
"Marse  Chan/'  The  account  of  its  writing  is 
given  in  Mr.  Page's  own  words  :  tkjust  then  a 
friend  showed  me  a  letter  which  had  been  written 
by  a  young  girl  to  her  sweetheart  in  a  Georgia 
regiment,  telling  him  that  she  had  discovered 
that  she  loved  him,  after  all,  and  that  if  he 
would  get  a  furlough  and  come  home  she  would 
marry  him ;  that  she  had  loved  him  ever  since 
they  had  gone  to  school  together  in  the  little 
schoolhouse  in  the  woods.  Then,  as  if  she 
feared  such  a  temptation  might  be  too  strong 
for  him,  she  added  a  postscript  in  these  words  : 
'Don't  come  without  a  furlough ;  for  if  you  don't 
come  honorable,  I  won't  marry  you.'  This  let- 
ter had  been  taken  from  the  pocket  of  a  private 
dead  on  the  battlefield  of  one  of  the  battles 
around  Richmond,  and,  as  the  date  was  only  a 
week  or  two  before  the  battle  occurred,  its 
pathos  struck  me  very  much.  I  remember  I 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  135 

said :  'The  poor  fellow  got  his  furlough  through 
a  bullet/  The  idea  remained  with  me,  and  I 
went  to  my  office  one  morning  and  began  to 
write  'Marse  Chan/  which  was  finished  in  about 
a  week." 

This  deservedly  popular  story  was  sent  in  1880 
to  Scribncr's  Magazine,  where  it  remained  for 
nearly  four  years  without  being  published.  In  the 
meantime  many  of  his  friends  advised  him  to 
give  up  the  idea  of  writing  and  devote  himself 
exclusively  to  the  law.  On  the  other  hand,  his 
wife  encouraged  him  in  his  literary  work.  The 
story  of  their  courtship  is,  I  imagine,  suggested 
in  "The  Old  Gentleman  of  the  Black  Stock."  She 
was  Miss  Anne  Seddon  Bruce,  a  niece  of  Hon. 
James  A.  Seddon,  Secretary  of  War  under  Jef- 
ferson Davis. 

"She  was  a  very  bright  woman/'  says  one  who 
knew  her  well,  "and  as  her  father  was  one  of  the 
largest  landowners  and  slaveholders  in  Virginia, 
she  had  a  considerable  knowledge,  and  doubtless 
contributed  as  much  to  her  husband's  store  of 
negro  comicalities  as  any  one  else.  She  was  nat- 
urally solicitous  of  his  popularity  as  a  writer,  and 
encouraged  him  to  continue  in  that  line  of 
work." 

When  "Marse  Chan"  finally  appeared  it  was 


136  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

received  at  once  with  universal  praise.  In  quick 
succession  Mr.  Page  wrote  "Unc'  Edinburgh 
Drowndin',"  "Meh  Lady,"  "Polly/'  "Ole  'Stract- 
ed/'  all  of  which  were  published  in  the  volume 
"In  Ole  Virginia"  in  1887.  This  volume  of  short 
stories  established  his  place  in  American  letters, 
and  is  still  his  most  characteristic  work. 

Mr.  Page  contributed  to  the  popularity  of  his 
stories  by  public  readings,  given  in  all  parts 
of  the  country.  He  and  Hopkinson  Smith  took 
Boston  by  storm,  said  a  writer  in  the  Critic  a 
few  years  ago,  and  students  of  Yale  and  other 
universities  gave  him  a  hearty  reception.  In  the 
cities  of  the  South  especially  he  was  received 
with  an  enthusiasm  rarely  displayed. 

Of  the  impressions  made  by  his  readings,  as 
well  as  of  the  general  attractiveness  of  his  per- 
sonality, I  cannot  give  a  better  idea  than  a  quota- 
tion from  a  letter  written  by  Dr.  Charles  Forster 
Smith,  who  heard  him  in  the  series  of  lectures 
and  readings  by  Southern  writers  inaugurated 
in  Nashville  and  at  Vanderbilt  University  by 
Prof.  Baskervill  and  others  : 

"Mr.  Page  came  the  next  winter  (1887)  and 
gave  lectures  and  readings,  four  in  number,  one 
at  Vanderbilt  and  the  rest  in  Watkins  Institute. 
He  captured  the  University  and  the  city  from 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  137 

the  start.  Watkins  Institute,  which  held  at  its 
best  some  eight  hundred  people,  could  not  ac- 
commodate the  crowds,  which  occupied  all  the 
standing  room  inside  and  at  the  doors  as  far  as 
one  could  see  and  hear.  Mr.  Page  had  been  rec- 
ognized from  the  beginning  of  his  career  as 
without  a  superior,  if  he  had  an  equal,  among 
American  authors  as  a  reader  from  his  own  writ- 
ings. The  readings  from  'Unc'  Edinburg/ 
'Marse  Chan,'  and  'Meh  Lady'  roused  a  degree 
of  enthusiasm  that  perhaps  had  never  been  seen 
in  Nashville  over  a  literary  performance.  One 
could  not  criticise ;  at  least,  I  could  not.  Tone, 
manner,  distinctness  of  utterance,  attitude 
toward  the  subject,  were  all  that  could  be  de- 
sired. The  reader  seemed  full  of  the  story  he 
was  reading  and  to  have  no  thought  of  himself, 
and  he  captured  everybody.  Mr.  Page  was 
asked  to  read  at  extra  hours  at  a  number  of 
schools,  and  always  readily  consented.  He  was 
much  feted  during  his  few  days'  stay,  and,  as  he 
was  young  and  strong,  stood  it  wonderfully  well. 
He  was  lionized  in  great  style,  and  bore  it  with 
the  utmost  simplicity.  As  a  talker  at  the  dinner 
table  or  in  private  circles  he  made  an  impres- 
sion second  only  to  that  made  by  his  reading. 
He  was  always  the  thorough  gentleman,  but 


13  THOMAS   NELSON    PAGE. 

with  a  simplicity  and  naturalness  that  showed 
the  art  had  been  in  his  family  a  long  time.  He 
was  easy  to  get  acquainted  with,  and  talk  with 
him  became  at  once  unreserved,  frank,  and  nat- 
ural. He  himself  as  the  center  of  the  group 
brought  about  such  things  so  naturally  that  they 
seemed  to  come  of  themselves." 

With  his  reputation  established  and  his  in- 
come augmented  by  receipts  from  books  and 
readings,  Page  gradually  gave  up  the  practice  of 
law.  The  death  of  his  first  wife  is  most  ten- 
derly referred  to  in  the  dedication  of  "Elsket 
and  Other  Stories/'  In  1893  he  was  married  to 
Mrs.  Field,  of  Chicago.  Since  their  marriage 
they  have  lived  in  Washington  City.  He  has  not 
taken  his  art  any  too  seriously,  nor  has  the  writ- 
ing of  a  book  made  him  lean.  He  has  had  none 
of  the  struggles  that  Russell  or  Lanier  had. 
He  is,  as  Carlyle  said  of  Scott,  "a  robust,  thor- 
oughly healthy  man,  and  withal  a  very  prosper- 
ous and  victorious  man.  An  eminently  well- 
conditioned  man,  healthy  in  body,  healthy  in 
soul,  we  shall  call  him  one  of  the  healthiest  of 
men." 

And  yet  with  all  his  ease  and  with  the  tempta- 
tions that  have  come  with  a  life  of  leisure,  he  has 
continued  to  write  with  much  attention  to  his 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  139 

style,  and  always  with  a  certain  degree  of  "high 
seriousness."  He  is  not  a  prolific  writer;  has 
taken  pains  to  make  his  work  as  good  as  possible. 
The  printers  testify  to  his  revision  of  his  stories, 
even  after  they  have  appeared  in  magazine  form. 
He  has  resorted  to  no  sensational  measures  to 
acquire  cheap  notoriety. 

I  have  already  referred  to  the  publication  of 
his  first  volume,  "In  Ole  Virginia/'  in  1887. 
"Two  Little  Confederates"  appeared  in  1888, 
and  "Among  the  Camps"  in '  1891 — books  that 
reveal  one  of  the  most  charming  elements  in 
Mr.  Page's  character,  his  love  for  children. 
Their  popularity  is  not  difficult  to  understand,  so 
thoroughly  human  are  they,  so  different  from 
the  conventional  juvenile  books.  In  1892  came 
"Elsket  and  Other  Stories ;"  in  1894,  "The  Burial 
of  the  Guns ;"  in  1896,  a  series  of  political  and 
social  essays  entitled  "The  Old  South;"  in  1898, 
"Red  Rock,  a  Chronicle  of  Reconstruction  ;"  and 
for  the  Christmas  holidays,  1900,  "Santa  Claus's 
Partner,"  a  somewhat  conventional  Christmas 
story  after  the  manner  of  Dickens.  He  is  now 
at  work  on  a  new  novel,  and  has  promised  short 
stories  for  the  magazines.  There  is  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  continue  to  delight  the  wide 
reading  public  he  has  made  for  himself. 


H°  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

While  in  "Elsket"  he  has  written  with  much 
power  the  tragic  story  of  two  Norwegian  lovers, 
the  most  characteristic  work  that  Mr.  Page  has 
done  is  his  delineation  of  the  life  of  the  South- 
ern people.    I  have  already  spoken  of  the  way  in 
,  which  he  was  gradually  led  into  literature,  his 
genuine  delight  in  a  story,  his  early  fondness  for 
writing;  but  I  doubt  not  that  the  most  decided 
impulse  has  come  from  his  desire  to  portray  the 
life  of  the  ante-bellum  South  and  the  heroism  of 
Southern  men  and  women  during  and  since  the 
war.    In  his  paper  on  "Authorship  in  the  South 
Before  the  War"  he  says :  "The  old  South  had 
no  chronicler  to  tell  its  story  in  that  spirit  of 
sympathy  from  which  alone  come  the  lights  and 
shadings  on  which  depend  perspective  and  real 
truth.     It  was  for  lack  of  a  literature  that  it 
was  left  behind  in  the  great  race  for  outside  fa- 
vor, and  that  in  the  supreme  moment  of  exist- 
ence  it    found   itself   arraigned    at    the    bar    of 
the  world  without  an  advocate  and  without  de- 
fense."    In  an  address  delivered  at  Washington 
and  Lee  in  1887  he  closed  by  appealing  to  the 
men  of  that  institution  to  look  forward  to  the 
true  historian  of  the  South.    "What  nobler  task 
can  be  set  himself  than  this :  to  preserve  from 
oblivion    or,    worse,    from    misrepresentation    a 


THOMAS   NELSON  PAGE.  141 

civilization  which  produced  as  its  natural  fruit 
Washington  and  Lee?"  Mr.  Page  is  not  this 
true  historian  to  whom  he  looks  forward  with 
prophetic  gaze ;  nor  is  he,  as  he  himself  realizes, 
the  artist  to  represent  on  a  large  scale  the  tre- 
mendous tragedy  of  the  Civil  War :  his  stories 
are  but  a  "fragmentary  record"  of  the  life  of  the 
people  he  loves. 

The  best  account  of  life  in  the  South  before 
the  war  is  in  "Unc'  Edinburgh  DrowndhV." 
The  fox-hunting,  dxieling,  Christmas  celebra- 
tions, hospitality,  chivalry,  love-making — all  are 
there,  not  in  the  nervous  prose  of  his  essay  on 
"Social  Life  Before  the  War,"  but  in  the  artistic 
words  of  the  old  negro  who  recalls  it  all  from  the 
haze  of  the  past.  In  the  preface  to  "Red  Rock" 
we  are  made  to  feel  that  a  glory  has  passed  away 
from  the  earth.  "Even  the  moonlight  was  rich- 
er and  mellower  before  the  war  than  it  is  now. 
.  .  .  What  an  air  suddenly  comes  in  with  them 
of  old  courts  and  polished  halls  !  What  an  odor, 
as  it  were,  of  those  gardens  which  Watteau 
painted  floats  in  as  they  enter !"  The  same  idea 
is  expressed  in  the  less  poetical  but  more  signifi- 
cant words  :  "Dem  was  good  ole  times,  Marster  ; 
de  best  Sam  ever  see !"  And  again :  "Dat  wuz 
de  een  o'  de  ole  time." 


142  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

To  all  of  which  one  may  be  allowed  to  ask  if 
there  is  not  too  much  of  a  glamour  about  the  old 
plantations  and  too  much  of  a  halo  about  the 
heads  of  Southern  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen. 
One  wishes  that  now  and  then  the  romancer  had 
used  some  of  the  sarcastic  touches  of  Thackeray 
in  dealing  with  the  higher  classes  of  English  so- 
ciety, or  that  he  would  use  some  of  the  irony  that 
Hawthorne  shows  in  dealing  with  the  Puritans. 
Hawthorne  was  essentially  a  Puritan— his  sto- 
nes are  an  expression  of  th'e  eternal  significance 
of  Puritanism — but  he  sees  the  Puritans  from  a 
superior  point  of  view,  he  indulges  in  a  laugh 
now  and  then  at  their  expense,  and  would  have 
the  reader  see  their  eccentricities  of  mind  and 
character.  Mr.  Page  has  some  of  the  sensitive- 
ness of  the  men  about  whom  he  writes — an  al- 
most fatal  obstacle  to  insight.  I  hasten  to  say, 
however,  that  this  is  a  failing  of  nearly  all  ro- 
mantic writers.  The  same  criticism  has  been 
passed  upon  Scott  for  his  presentation  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  He  does  not  see  life  as  it  is,  he 
does  not  write  with  his  eye  on  the  object ;  but 
who  would  be  without  his  enthusiasm  for  the 
age  of  chivalry  ?  And  the  reader  may  be  allowed 
to  enjoy  the  idealization  of  ante-bellum  life,  and 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  143 

at  the  same  time  be  aware  of  the  freshfcurrent  of 
ideas  of  the  new  South. 

One  may  admit  that  in  many  of  his  essays 
dealing  with  phases  of  Southern  problems  Mr. 
Page  shows  a  lack  of  insight  and  penetration, 
and  that  in  his  conception  of  the  Old  South  he 
has  exaggerated  its  virtues  and  made  too  little 
of  its  defects,  and  yet  praise  without  stint  his 
stories  of  the  war.  Granted  that  the  Southern 
people  were  wrong  in  their  interpretation  of  the 
Constitution,  that  they  were  blind  to  the  trend 
of  events  when  they  opposed  the  sentiment  of 
union,  that  they  were  wrong  in  maintaining 
slavery  after  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world  had 
grown  beyond  it — granted  all  this,  it  remains 
true  that  in  the  war  they  showed  elements 
of  leadership  and  courage  worthy  of  record  as 
a  revelation  of  the  highest  attainments  of  the 
human  race.  Many  men,  like  Robert  E.  Lee  and 
Maurice  Thompson,  realized  that  the  South  was 
fighting  a  hopeless  battle.  Nearly  all  of  the  he- 
roes of  Mr.  Page's  stories  are  opposed  to  seces- 
sion. Dr.  Gary  resists  it  with  all  his  power,  but 
at  last  submits  to  the  inevitable.  "The  time  has 
passed  for  talking,"  he  says.  "Go  home,  and 
prepare  for  war;  for  it  is  on  us.  No  war?  We 
are  at  war  now  with  the  greatest  power  on  earth, 


144  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

the  power  of  universal  progress.  It  is  not  the 
North  we  shall  have  to  fight,  but  the  world.  If 
we  have  talked  like  fools,  we  shall  at  least  fight 
like  men/' 

These  words  are  a  recognition  of  the  inevita- 
bleness  of  the  struggle,  and  no  less  of  the  trag- 
edy sure  to  follow.  A  people  that  had  produced 
many  of  the  leaders  of  this  country — a  people 
chivalrous,  open-hearted — found  themselves  at 
war  with  a  force  they  could  never  overcome,  re- 
sisting the  stream  of  tendency  that  maketh  for 
the  progress  of  the  world.  This  tragedy  is  as  the 
background  for  all  the  stories  of  Page,  a  tragedy 
that  becomes  crystallized  in  the  men  and  women 
about  whom  he  writes.  As  in  all  tragedy,  the 
gloom  is  relieved  by  the  light  of  the  humor  that 
flashes  here  and  there,  and  the  revelation  of  he- 
roic manhood  and  womanhood. 

Prof.  Gildersleeve  says  that  his  memory  of  the 
war  is  of  two  fine  young  men — not  of  the  whole 
war  nor  of  the  causes — a  young  Northern  lieu- 
tenant, the  embodiment  of  the  highest  ideals  of 
his  people,  and  a  young  captain  on  Gordon's 
staff,  "dying  with  the  peace  of  heaven  on  his 
face."  In  Mr.  Page's  stories  the  political  prob- 
lems of  that  struggle  are  forgotten,  and  our 
minds  rest  upon  the  heroic  men  and  women  who 


THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE.  145 

bore  the  brunt  of  it  all.  We  can  never  be  too 
grateful  to  the  writer  who  has  given  us  the  de- 
scription of  Marse  Phil's  charge  "across  de  oat 
fielY'  or  Little  Darby's  heroic  cutting  down  of 
the  tree  while  the  bullets  rain  about  him,  or  the 
devotion  of  the  men  to  their  guns  and  their 
colonel.  And  more  moving  than  their  bravery 
is  the  death  that  these  sons  of  the  South  meet 
as  they  do  their  duty — Marse  Chan,  brought 
home  in  an  ambulance  by  his  faithful  servant  and 
put  "to  rest  in  de  ole  grabeyard  (he  done  got  he 
furlough)  :"  Marse  Phil,  found  amid  the  wreck 
and  confusion  of  the  battlefield  and  dying  with 
the  arms  of  his  mother  about  him ;  Col.  Gray, 
"falling  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  on  one  of 
those  great  days  which  are  the  milestones  of 
history." 

It  is  no  disparagement  to  the  men  to  say  that, 
whatever  courage  they  displayed,  it  was  less 
than  that  which  the  women  showed;  "hit 
.  'peared  like  when  it  start  the  ladies  wuz  ambi- 
tiouser  fir  it  'n  de  mens."  It  would  not  be  diffi- 
cult to  criticise  the  woman  of  the  ante-bellum 
days  as  Mr.  Page  has  described  her — the  gay 
and  joyous  Polly,  "the  tenderest-hearted  little 
thing  in  the  world,"  "de  young  mistis  in  de  sky- 
blue  robes,"  or  the  more  dignified  Miss  Char- 
10 


146  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

lotte,  "who  look  like  she  has  done  come  down 
right  from  de  top  o'  de  blue  sky  an  bring  a  piece 
o'  it  wid  her."  But  these  young  women  are 
transformed  into  such  heroines  as  Meh  Lady 
and  Cousin  Belle,  the  mother  of  Frank  an' 
Willie,  My  Cousin  Fanny,  Blair  Gary,  who  in 
times  of  storm  and  stress  assume  the  heroic. 
Theirs  is  the  loneliness  of  life  on  the  old  planta- 
tion, with  none  but  the  negroes  and  boys  for 
company ;  the  agony  and  pathos  of  death ;  the 
decline  of  once  proud  estates;  the  hard,  coarse 
living  they  had  to  submit  to;  the  insults  of 
Northern  soldiers ;  after  the  war  the  removal  to 
cabins  and  the  teaching  of  negro  schools.  It  is 
in  the  delineation  of  these  women  that  Mr.  Page 
is  at  his  best. 

The  favorite  way  Mr.  Page  has  of  presenting 
his  stories  is  through  some  negro  who  in  these 
latter  days  looks  back  to  the  good  old  days  of 
slavery.  He  has  realized  with  Irwin  Russell  and 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  the  literary  capabilities  of 
the  negro — with  a  difference,  however.  Mr. 
Page  delineates  the  negro  only  as  he  is  identi- 
fied with  slavery ;  his  thoughts  never  go  beyond 
that  relation ;  there  is  much  wit  and  common- 
sense  philosophy  characteristic  of  an  unconven- 
tional character,  but  none  of  the  folklore,  none 


THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE.  147 

of  the  legends  peculiar  to  the  negro  race.  He  is 
an  accessory  to  the  white  man,  set  up  to  see  him 
as  the  author  sees  him.  Mr.  Harris,  on  the  oth- 
er hand,  gives  the  negro  a  separate  existence. 
In  "Free  Joe"  especially  he  shows  the  latent  life 
underneath  the  forms  of  slavery.  It  is  a  mistake 
to  say  that  Page's  characters  are  untrue  to  life. 
There  are  many  such  negroes  living  now,  per- 
fectly loyal  sons  of  the  Old  South  to  whom  the 
passing  away  of  slavery  was  the  destruction  of 
all  that  was  best  in  the  world.  There  will  be 
fewer  and  fewer  as  time  passes  and  as  the  negro 
develops  along  lines  indicated  by  such  leaders  as 
Booker  Washington.  It  is  fortunate  that  one  so 
well  fitted  as  Mr.  Page  has  preserved  this  inter- 
esting type ;  if  for  no  other  reason,  to  offset  the 
erroneous  impressions  made  in  "Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin." 

Such  a  negro  as  I  have  indicated  is  the  best 
possible  character  with  which  to  present  certain 
phases  of  Southern  life.  In  his  mouth  the  most 
exaggerated  words  seem  justifiable.  He  cannot 
adjust  himself  to  new  conditions,  to  "free  issue 
negroes"  and  "poor  white  trash."  Uncle  Sam 
has  been  over  to  the  old  place  to  water  the 
graves  of  his  dead  master  and  mistress ;  Uncle 
Edinburg  meets  the  writer  at  the  depot  and 


148  THOMAS   NELSON   PAGE. 

tells  him  of  the  Christmas  of  long  ago,  "the  sho' 
'nough  tyah  down  Chris'mas ;"  Uncle  Billy  is 
cutting  fishing  poles  for  the  sons  of  the  finest  of 
Southern  women  and  the  most  chivalrous  of 
Northern  men. 

The  blending  of  humor  and  pathos  which  is  one 
of  the  finest  characteristics  of,  Mr.  Page  is  no- 
where so  evident  as  in  the  stories  in  his  first  vol- 
ume. There  is  one  passage  that  seems  to  me  one 
of  the  best  in  his  works,  and,  indeed,  one  of  the 
best  in  American  literature :  the  conclusion  of 
uMeh  Lady,"  where  Uncle  Billy  muses  of  the 
olden  times  as  he  sits  in  his  cabin  door:  "An' 
dat  nighf  when  de  preacher  was  gone  wid  his 
wife  an'  Hannah  done  drapt  off  to  sleep,  I  wuz 
settin'  in  der  do'  wid  meh  pipe,  an'  I  heah  'em 
settin'  dyah  on  de  front  steps,  de  voices  soundin' 
low  like  bees  an'  de  moon  sort  o'  meltin'  over 
de  yard,  an'  I  sort  o'  studyin',  an'  hit  'pear  like 
de  plantation  live  once  mo',  an'  de  ain'  no  mo' 
scufflin',  air  de  ole  times  come  back  ag'in,  an'  I 
heah  meh  kerridge  horses  stompin'  in  de  stalls, 
an'  de  place  all  cleared  up  ag'in,  an'  fence  all 
roun'  de  pasture,  an'  I  smell  de  wet  clover  blos- 
soms right  good,  an'  Marse  Phil  an'  Meh  Lady 
done  come,  an'  runnin'  all  roun'  me,  climbin' 
up  on  meh  knees,  runnin'  callin'  me  Unc'  Billy, 


THOMAS    NELSON    PAGE.  149 

an'  pesterin'  me  to  go  fishin',  whil'  some'ow 
Meh  Lady  an'  de  Cun'l  settin'  dyah  on  de  steps 
wid  de  voice  hummin'  low  like  water  runnin'  in 
de  dark." 

So  far  I  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Page  as  a  writer 
of  short  stories.  A  more  difficult  question  arises 
when  we  consider  him  as  a  novelist.  The  pass- 
ing from  the  short  story  to  a  really  great  novel 
is  a  task  that  few  men  have  been  able  to  achieve, 
perhaps  not  Kipling  himself.  That  Mr.  Page 
failed  in  "On  New-found  River"  is  generally 
conceded;  that  he  came  much  nearer  to  it  in 
"Red  Rock"  is  as  generally  recognized.  He  has 
evidently  given  a  most  vivid  impression  of  that 
most  dramatic  period  of  history.  In  recent 
years  much  has  been  written  about  Reconstruc- 
tion. Especially  notable  is  the  series  of  ar- 
ticles in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  of  which  Mr. 
Page  has  written  one  of  the  most  striking.  The 
opinion  seems  to  be  growing  that,  viewed  from 
any  standpoint,  the  policy  of  the  government  was 
a  most  unfortunate  and  calamitous  one  ;  and  that 
this  view  has  weighed  upon  Mr.  Page  all  these 
years  is  evident  from  his  addresses  and  essays. 

Of  the  book  as  a  novel  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to 
quote  the  words  of  Mr.  Mabie  in  the  Outlook  of 
December  3,  1898,  partly  for  the  reason  that  they 


150  THOMAS    NELSON    PAGE. 

give  in  a  short  compass  my  own  opinion  of  the 
novel,  and  partly  that  they  come  from  a  cosmo- 
politan and  capable  critic.  "The  foremost  place 
among  American  novels  of  the  season  must  be 
given  to  'Red  Rock.'  This  is  Mr.  Page's  first 
long  story,  and  its  appearance  has  been  awaited 
with  a  great  deal  of  interest  and  no  small  anxiety 
by  those  who  have  appreciated  and  valued  the 
reality  and  charm  of  his  work  as  a  writer  of  short 
stories. . .  .  The  reading  of  'Red  Rock'  in  its  com- 
plete form  happily  removes  all  doubt  about  his 
ability  to  paint  on  a  large  canvas.  It  is  a  seri- 
ous piece  of  work,  seriously  conceived  and  seri- 
ously executed,  by  a  man  who  takes  his  art  con- 
scientiously. It  errs  on  the  side  of  presenting 
too  much  material,  and  it  must  be  added  that 
something  of  Mr.  Page's  charm  of  style  seems 
to  have  been  lost  in  this  long  story.  But  when 
one  has  finished  it  he  finds  in  his  mind  a  liv- 
ing community  of  acting,  breathing,  and  vital 
men  and  women ;  and  that  is  saying  that  'Red 
Rock'  is  the  work  of  a  man  of  genuine  artistic 
power." 

The  concluding  scene  in  "Red  Rock,"  repre- 
senting the  reconciliation  of  the  two  sections  in 
the  marriage  of  Ruth  Welch  and  Steve  Allen, 
suggests  a  most  important  phase  of  Mr.  Page's 


THOMAS    NELSON    PAGE.  151 

work.  While  he  has  written  with  much  enthu- 
siasm, and  at  times  with  decided  feeling,  of  the 
life  of  his  people,  he  has  never  been  bitter.  He 
has  had  not  a  little  to  do  with  the  fostering  of 
the  new  national  spirit  that  has  been  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  last  few  years.  His  works  in  the 
hands  of  some  Southerners  have  no  doubt  en- 
couraged them  in  provincialism  and  conserva- 
tism :  to  the  great  majority  they  have  served  to 
keep  alive  the  best  memories  of  the  past.  To 
his  Northern  readers,  "In  Ole  Virginia"  and 
"Red  Rock"  have  been  a  revelation  of  a  life  they 
have  misunderstood  and  misrepresented.  This 
national  service  rendered  by  him  was  fittingly 
recognized  on  October  23,  1901,  when  Yale  Uni- 
versity, in  connection  with  her  bicentennial  cel- 
ebration, conferred  upon  him  the  degree  of  Doc- 
tor of  Literature. 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN :  A  STUDY. 

BY  JOHN  BELL    HENNEMAN. 
I. 

MR.  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN  is  an  interesting  case 
of  evolution  in  literature.  He  himself,  who  has 
become  in  his  latest  story.  "The  Reign  of  Law/' 
an  acknowledged  student  of  the  influence  of  the 
doctrine  of  evolution  upon  the  thought  of  the 
age,  represents  in  the  changes  and  development 
of  his  work  these  same  principles.  He  derives 
from  Southern  literature,  and  began  as  a  por- 
trayer  of  simple  Kentucky  landscape  and  local 
life ;  he  has  attained  to  the  point  of  view  of  world 
literature  in  the  significance  of  his  themes.  He 
has  dealt  only  with  the  native  Kentucky  soil,  a  soil 
and  race  from  which  he  sprung  and  which  he 
knows  well ;  but  his  treatment  and  his  art  instinct 
have  carried  him  from  the  particular  to  the  univer- 
sal. Thus  it  comes  that  no  two  of  his  volumes  are 
alike  or  represent  the  same  ideas  and  grade  of 
development.  Each  has  been  an  added  experi- 
ment in  a  new  field,  a  new  effort  in  a  different 
sphere  of  thought,  a  new  success  with  fresh  ma- 
terial. In  this  variety  and  growth  and  in  his 
close  touch  with  the  literary  and  intellectual 
movements  and  achievements  of  his  day,  Mr, 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  153 

Allen's  position  among  Southern  writers,  so 
called  by  accident  of  birth  and  environment,  is 
unique. 

No  doubt  the  qualities  derived  from  his  birth 
and  environment  determined  his  career.  In 
the  heart  of  the  rich  limestone  soil  and  beau- 
tiful blue  grass  region  of  Kentucky  lay  the 
scenes  of  his  early  life.  Here  came  the  blight  of 
war,  which  befell  his  youth  somewhat  like  the  de- 
scription of  Gabriella's  volume  of  life  in  "The 
Reign  of  Law" — the  struggle  with  poverty,  and 
then  the  still  bitterer  heart  struggles  for  a  lit- 
erary career.  Here  lie  the  scenes  of  all  his  tales 
and  stories.  It  is,  therefore,  what  he  has  lived 
and  was  bred  in  and  what  he  knows  that  he  has 
written  about;  and  in  describing  the  phases  of 
this  life  there  is  no  faltering  and  no  uncertainty. 
It  is  a  country  worthy  of  the  noble  expression 
it  has  found  in  Mr.  Allen's  writings,  and  the  final 
biography  and  criticism  of  Mr.  Allen  and  his 
works  will  possibly  come  some  day  from  one 
born  and  nurtured  in  the  same  meadows  and 
fields,  along  the  same  white  turnpikes  and  lanes 
and  stones  and  hedgerows.  For  the  present, 
perhaps,  one  nearer  home  may  fail  to  get  the 
propej  perspective  ;  and  so  one  not  a  Kentuckian 
may  be  permitted  to  express  an  opinion. 


154  JAMES   LANE   ALLEN. 

Some  four  or  five  divisions  of  Mr.  Allen's 
work  in  fiction — omitting  his  earliest  contribu- 
tions and  letters  to  various  papers  and  an  occa- 
sional poem  or  criticism — may  be  distinguished. 
First  is  that  of  the  " Flute  and  Violin"  volume 
and  his  sketches  and  descriptive  pieces  of  Ken- 
tucky and  Kentucky  life.  A  second  series  be- 
gins with  the  "Kentucky  Cardinal"  and  its  con- 
clusion, "Aftermath/'  revealing  his  intimacy 
with  the  most  secret  moods  of  nature.  This  was 
followed  by  "Summer  in  Arcady,"  in  which  the 
workings  of  nature  profoundly  affect  the  desti- 
nies of  life.  A  fourth  may  be  made  of  the  re- 
modeling of  "John  Gray"  into  "The  Choir  In- 
visible," where  the  historical  background,  in 
part  anticipatory  of  a  current  fashion,  was  freely 
used  for  the  human  problem  also  brought  out. 
And  latest  of  all,  so  far  as  his  writings  have  been 
published,  and  catching  something  of  the  freer 
use  of  the  moods  and  modes  of  nature  revealed 
in  "Summer  in  Arcady,''  is  the  aggressively  in- 
sistent "Reign  of  Law."  Yet  what  is  this  but 
saying  that  each  of  Mn  Allen's  volumes  is  to  be 
treated  by  itself  ?  A  strong  and  sincere  love  for 
man  and  nature — "human  life  in  relation  to 
nature,"  as  he  himself  has  phrased  it  in  a  review 
of  another's  writings — is  his  most  characteristic 


JAMES   LANE   ALLEN.  155 

mark.  A  sympathetic  portraiture  of  one  and  a 
lover's  description  of  the  other  we  always  ex- 
pect, but  we  may  not  know  what  is  to  be  th!e 
especial  phase  of  study  and  type  development. 

Here  most  of  all,  it  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Allen's 
peculiar  strength  lies.  He  has  a  romantic  back- 
ground to  deal  with,  one  that  is  historic  as  well 
as  romantic,  which  he  always  observes  with  the 
clear  eye  and  feels  with  the  true  heart ;  but  he 
is  also  profoundly  and  intimately  interested  in 
human  life — the  life  about  him,  life  under  many 
complex  conditions,  life  as  wrought  through  the 
workings  of  elemental  nature  within  us  and 
controlled  by  the  spiritual  beyond  us.  It  is  a 
natural  and  rapid  step  from  history  to  the  prob- 
lems of  contemporary  life ;  therefore  romantic 
and  naturalistic  tendencies  alike  combine  in  him. 
He  sees  nature  with  the  eye  of  the  poet  and  the 
love  of  the  artist,  yet  scrutinizes  her  appear- 
ances and  examines  her  laws  with  the  apprehen- 
sion and  insight  of  the  student  of  science.  In- 
deed, this  growth  of  the  scientific  interest  with- 
in him  best  accounts  for  obvious  qualities  in 
works  of  quite  different  spirit,  as  the  "Kentucky 
Cardinal"  and  "Summer  in  Arcady"  or  "The 
Reign  of  Law,"  regarded  by  many  as  contradic- 
tory. To  the  poet  part  of  his  nature,  the  deli- 


156  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

cacy  and  pathos  of  a  situation  appeal  keenly. 
To  the  mind  familiar  with  scientific  modes  of 
thought  comes  the  consciousness  of  these 
changes  in  conceptions  of  philosophy,  theology, 
and  cosmology  going  on  about  it,  into  relation 
with  which  the  particular  conditions  must  be 
brought.  Every  man  truly  living  and  thinking 
at  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century  has  been 
conscious  of  these  changes,  has  felt  the  throb- 
bings  of  nature,  has  questioned  the  mystery  of 
life,  has  experienced  the  power  of  an  intellectual 
and  spiritual  stimulus.  These  themes  run 
through  every  one  of  Mr.  Allen's  writings.  Each 
is  the  evolution  or  development  of  a  thesis  or 
idea. 

Even  in  the  "Flute  and  Violin"  stories  there 
is  an  awakening  to  broader  and  higher  concep- 
tions and  ideals.  In  "Flute  and  Violin"  itself  it 
takes  the  form  of  a  more  unselfish  thought  of 
duty.  In  the  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky" 
and  in  "King  Solomon"  it  is  broader  charity  and 
deeper  human  sympathies.  In  "The  White 
Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa"  there  is  the  con- 
tradiction between  the  free,  natural  life  of  the 
Kentuckian  and  the  cramping  of  the  cloistered 
abbey  and  convent  having  lodgment  in  its  soil, 
until  there  comes,,  through  the  seed  of  love 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  157 

sown,  the  arousing  from  a  restricted  and  arti- 
ficial life  and  world  to  one  more  extended  and 
more  natural.  In  the  "Kentucky  Cardinal"  and 
its  sequel  the  changes  wrought  on  both  heart 
and  mind  belong  to  love  and  nature  together. 
In  "Summer 'in  Arcady"  the  forces  of  nature  are 
struggling  with  the  human  and  spiritual  ele- 
ments, and  both  poet  and  scientist  are. there  not- 
ing cause  and  effect,  yet  amid  the  warring  of 
passions  guiding  to  beneficent  issues.  No  won- 
der there  came  a  cry  from  the  sentimentalists. 
Emotions  were  all ;  they  could  not  think ;  they 
did  not  understand  how  things  as  sacred  and 
holy  as  love  and  marriage  should  have  their  un- 
derlying conditions  subjected  to  analysis,  and 
by  one  who  at  the  same  time  was  supremely 
conscious  of  spiritual  beauty  in  nature  and  life. 
"The  Choir  Invisible,"  based  on  a  former  story 
by  the  same  author,  is  somewhat  of  a  return  to 
an  earlier  method ;  but  while  its  setting  is  drawn 
from  pioneer  conditions  in  Kentucky  history,  its 
interest  centers  in  the  development  of  human 
character  and  destiny.  It  was  a  temporary 
aberration  to  the  historical  and  romantic  type 
of  story  then  winning  in  popular  favor,  yet  it  was 
ever  psychological  in  spirit  and  descriptive  of 
nature's  appeals.  It  was  of  the  play  of  spiritual 


158  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

forces  in  that  early  Western  land  that  saved  and 
gained  a  nation ;  but  it  did  not  go  to  the  extrav- 
agant lengths  of  Mr.  Churchill  and  Miss  John- 
ston, and,  as  if  dreading  thfe  infection,  Mr. 
Allen  returned  at  once  to  other  paths.  We  can 
now  see  that  the  study  and  analysis  steadily  ob- 
truding in  "Aftermath"  and  in  "Summer  in  Ar- 
cady"  merely  foretold  the  tendencies  leading  to 
far  deeper  issues  in  thought  and  life  as  under- 
taken in  "The  Reign  of  Law." 

These  are  movements  of  which  we  are  forced 
to  take  heed.  Many  readers  prefer  Mr.  Allen's 
earlier  vein,  just  as  many  prefer  Thackeray's 
"Henry  Esmond"  to  his  "Vanity  Fair"  and 
"Pendennis,"  and  some  the  marvelous  adven- 
tures of  "Richard  Carvel"  and  "To  Have  and 
to  Hold"  to  studies  of  character  and  destiny. 
There  is  no  quarrel  here,  for  there  is  room  and 
to  spare  for  both ;  but  the  novel  is  bound  to  be- 
come more  and  not  less  subtle  and  delicate  in  its 
portrayal  of  motive  and  character.  And  it  is  this 
direction  of  manifest  destiny  that  Mr.  Allen  has 
taken.  Not  only  so,  but  he  is  a  careful  artist  in 
style,  and  his  speech,  though  prose,  is  often  the 
utterance  of  a  poet.  His  chief  defect  is  that  of 
his  qualities  :  he  takes  his  art  consciously  and 
seriously,  and  so  is  sometimes  even  too  earnest 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  159 

in  it.  And  yet,  in  a  day  when  the  lack  of  serious- 
ness in  the  domain  of  literature  is  as  overwhelm- 
ing as  it  is,  this  constitutes  high  praise.  It  is 
not  of  so  much  moment  whether  Mr.  Allen  be- 
lieves this  or  that,  or  is  or  is  not  right  in  all  his 
conclusions — if,  indeed,  he  dogmatizes  at  all, 
though  there  seem  to  be  traces  of  this  in  his 
latest  work.  Mr.  Allen  is  the  consciously  work- 
ing artist,  and  the  great  fundamental  facts  of 
human  nature  attract  him  in  his  study  of  life  and 
its  conditions,  and  of  the  profound  changes  in 
attitude  and  thought.  The  awakening  of  the 
soul  to  life,  sometimes  to  its  own  hurt,  and  to 
eternal  heartache,  but  always  to  fuller  liberty,  is 
his  constant  interest. 

Would  he  be  so  true  if  he  ended  his  stories 
just  as  we  would  have  them — ideally?  Though 
some  may  object  from  quite  another  point  of 
view  that  with  given  conditions  he  ends  often 
too  ideally.  Certainly  he  prefers  a  spiritual 
outcome  to  every  struggle.  Apparently  a  realist 
by  conviction,  he  is  an  idealist  by  nature.  The 
one  lesson  of  both  nature  and  life  is  that  they 
are  inexorable.  Many  dear  to  us  we  may  love, 
and  they  may  disappoint  our  love ;  and  the  poet- 
ical nature,  catching  a  part  of  divine  love,  treats 
with  greater  charity  the  failures  and  misunder- 


l6o  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

standings  of  mankind,  and  sees  in  them  all  only 
the  noble  promise.  The  great-hearted  Shakes- 
peare sympathizes  with  FalstafFs  death ;  his  vil- 
lains are  always  dealt  with  gently  at  the  close ; 
he  is  great  enough  to  understand  and  feel  pity. 

Some  of  Mr.  Allen's  problems  may  be  greater 
than  he  can  answer — perhaps  than  any  one  can 
answer.  But  at  least  the  sincerity  of  facing  them, 
the  attempt  to  give  them  an  artistic  background, 
is  worth  a  good  deal.  The  artist  cannot  be  dic- 
tated to  even  by  himself.  He  cannot  always 
please  his  own  ideals,  let  alone  those  of  others. 
He  must  deal  with  images  and  convictions  that 
haunt  the  brain,  and  deliver  them  and  take  his 
chance  as  to  their  being  true.  And  the  note  of 
utter  sincerity  in  his  art,  I  think,  can  be  claimed 
as  a  special  distinction  of  Mr.  Allen's  work.  His 
tendencies  have  thus  followed  logical  directions, 
and  both  his  personal  and  his  historical  position 
in  American  letters  is  already  an  interesting  one. 
What  the  ultimate  judgment  may  be  must  be  left 
to  fuller  accomplishment — and  to  time. 

We  can  well  believe  Mr.  Allen  reads,  thinks, 
studies,  observes,  imagines.  He  has  evident- 
ly studied  Darwin,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  and  the 
thinkers  of  an  inexorably  scientific  age.  He  has 
read,  too,  Balzac  and  the  moderns  in  fiction. 


JAMES    LANE' ALLEN.  l6l 

His  shrinking,  even  in  his  earliest  sketches,  from 
the  extreme  romantic,  an  obvious  tendency  in 
most  Southern  writers,  shows  the  influence  of 
other  authors  and  of  other  forces  than  mere 
suggestions  from  Kentucky  surroundings.  His 
has  been  an  inevitable  development.  The  prob- 
lems of  the  universe  have  allured  him,  and  he 
sees  them  reflected  in  the  landscape  and  history 
of  his  own  State  and  in  the  contemporary  life 
about  him. 

Thus  he  transcends  other  Southern  writers  in 
the  planning  of  his  work.  No  longer  does  he 
belong  to  a  locality,  even  though  all  his  scenes 
may  be  laid  there ;  he  becomes  cosmopolitan  in 
his  appeal.  And  so  he  is  read  in  England  as  in 
America,  in  the  East  as  in  the  South — indeed, 
more  so.  He  is  a  product  of  the  soil,  but  his 
branches  tower  into  the  air  and  welcome  all  the 
winds  of  the  heavens,  the  rain,  and  the  sunshine. 
Mr.  Page  is  Virginian;  Mr.  Harris  is  Southern; 
Mr.  Allen,  whether  he  attains  it  or  not,  is  striv- 
ing toward  the  universal. 

'Mr.  Allen  has  been  compared  to  Mr.  Thomas 
Hardy,  whom  in  nature  and  art  he  is  not  wholly 
unlike.  Kentucky  is  his  Wessex.  Some  of  his 
problems  are  likewise  tremendous,  although 
they  are  not  yet,  and  are  not  apt  to  be,  of  the 
ii 


1 62  JAMES  'LANE  ALLEN. 

severity  and  temper  of  the  themes  of  his  English 
compeer.  "Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles"  appeared 
a  year  or  two  before  "Summer  in  Arcady."  Mr. 
Allen's  is  also  a  case  of  development  not  unlike 
Mr.  Hardy's — from  the  idyllic-  to  the  tragic. 
"The  Reign  of  Law"  his  its  points  of  contact 
with  "The  Return  of  the  Native." 

Yet  in  the  midst  of  the  tragic  Mr.  Allen  can- 
not shut  out  the  idyllic  and  the  ideal.  His  con- 
clusions and  his  endings  are  chastened  and  soft- 
ened by  this  spirit.  They  represent  his  phase  of 
mind,  and  so,  happily,  must  remain.  He  has  not 
always  fought  out  the  matter  to  the  utmost  with 
himself.  "The  Reign  of  Law"  is  a  tragedy — in 
the  hands  of  a  realist  must  remain  a  tragedy. 
Mr.  Allen  might  have  been  logically  and  artis- 
tically justified  in  shattering  the  life  of  David 
rather  than  in  conserving  it.  But  there  stepped 
in  the  saving  faith  of  the  evolutionist,  the  evan- 
gel of  a  new  creed.  The  man  who  is  thus  hon- 
est and  so  believes  must  be  saved.  Spiritually, 
yes — with  Goethe  and  Browning.  But  actually, 
in  this  world's  ways  and  conventions,  more  prob- 
ably, no.  A  second  structure  is  superadded  to 
the  first.  The  future  of  David  must  be  assured, 
and  the  story  must  end. 

The  steady  enlargement  of  the  sphere  of  Mr. 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  163 

Allen's  art  and  change  in  attitude  is  to  be  wel- 
comed. Even  those  who  prefer  his  earlier  vein 
do  so  mainly  because  it  was  sweet  and  tender. 
But  sweetness  and  tenderness  may  prove  to  lack 
qualities  of  strength ;  they  alone  cannot  be 
great.  In  his  development  has  lain  his  only 
chance  of  continued  distinction,  preserving,  as 
he  does,  the  saving  and  helping  qualities  of 
sweetness  and  tenderness.  I  believe,  then,  that 
Mr.  Allen  is  a  deliberate  worker..  At  the  time  he 
has  naturally  not  always  been  fully  aware  of  the 
instincts  struggling  within  him,  but  he  has  care- 
fully- proved  himself  at  every  step.  He  is  no 
doubt  conscious  of  the  changes  that  have  as- 
serted themselves  in  his  work ;  he  has  been  true 
to  them,  to  himself,  and  to  his  art,  it  seems  to 
me ;  and  right  or  wrong,  we  may  feel  that  any 
other  process  was  impossible  and  would  have 
meant  decline  and  the  destruction  of  silence. 

The  mere  tale  of  adventure  we  may  not  look 
for — for  him  that  would  be  to  retrace  steps  and 
march  backward.  But  a  tale  with  an  historic 
background,  possessing  all  the  elements  of  he- 
redity and  influences  of  surrounding  environ- 
ment, we  can  expect — a  bold  and  strong  concep- 
tion and  combination  of  the  romantic  spirit  with 
the  natural  and  real.  There  may  be,  too,  other 


164  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

studies  of  the  day — ideals  of  tragedy  commin- 
gled through  the  poet's  nature  with  the  great 
pity  of  one  who  knows  sorrow  and  can  see 
beauty.  Of  this  we  may  guess.  But  Mr.  Allen 
has  surprised  the  writer  of  these  lines  more  than 
once.  No  one  is  in  his  confidence,  and  we  may 
await  with  interest  further  work,  assured  only 
that  in  the  high  seriousness  of  his  conceptions 
he  will  never  be  false  to  himself  or  his  art,  and 
thai  the  distinction  of  his  literary  style  alone  will 
rescue  him  from  the  commonplace  and  entitle 
him  to  a  hearing. 


The  James  Lane  Allen  of  our  sketch — for  that 
thlere  is  another  of  the  same  name  "Who's  Who" 
informs  us,  who  lives  in  Chicago,  who  also 
writes  books,,  and  to  whom  full  apologies  are 
made  by  our  author  in  the  Preface  to  "Flute 
and  Violin"  for  all  unintentional  confusion — was 
born  in  1849  ^n  the  heart  of  the  beautiful  blue 
grass  region  of  Kentucky,  of  which  Lexington 
is  the  capital  city.  The  spirit  of  this  country  has 
entered  into  and  pervades  all  his  writings.  His 
descent  is  that  characteristic  of  the  best  in  Ken- 
tucky— the  two  streams  of  English  from  Virginia 
and  Scotch-Irish  from  Pennsvlvania.  He  was 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  15 

born  at  a  time  for  the  Civil  War  to  make  a  deep 
impression  upon  him,  and  particularly  for  the 
change  in  social  and  economic  conditions  to 
affect  him  both  materially  and  spiritually.  Of 
the  age  of  sixteen  at  its  close,  a  new  social  life 
had  to  be  faced  under  quite  different  aspects 
from  what  he  might  have  anticipated.  Of  the 
physical  and  spiritual  strugglings  that  must  have 
been  endured  at  that  period,  we  have  no  record 
— from  him,  most  of  all,  not  a  word.  And  yet 
the  imagination  can  picture  some  of  it.  The  vol- 
ume of  Gabriella's  life,  inserted  as  a  retrospect 
in  the  second  part  of  "The  Reign  of  Law/' 
though  not  needed  for  the  story,  is  a  glowing 
piece  of  portraiture,  calling  up  with  changes  of 
sex  and  circumstances  what  he  himself  doubt- 
less had  passed  through  and  numbers  of  gentle 
folk  must  have  suffered. 

Fortunately  of  whatever  else  economic  and 
social  changes  might  rob  him,  they  could  not 
take  from  the  growing  youth  the  wonderful  gifts  * 
Nature  had  strewn  profusely  about  him.  In  ab- 
sence of  other  teachers,  his  mother  could  always 
point  out  lessons,  from  outdoor  life,  and  perhaps  in 
proportion  to  the  meagerness  of  other  schooling 
the  lessons  from  Nature's  teachings  appealed 
more  and  more  subtly  to  the  boy's  heart,  how 


l66  TAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

deeply  he  himself  could  not  be  conscious  of  at 
the  moment.  The  effects  were  to  come  later  and 
later  in  life,  as  he  matured  and  gained  the  power 
of  giving  expression  to  these  phenomena,  under- 
standing them  with  the  poet's  heart  and  explain- 
ing them  with  the  student's  mind. 

We  may  believe,  too,  the  early  love  of  reading 
books — old  romances,  poetry,  history — was  soon 
implanted.  Once  more,  in  the  want  of  school- 
masters, his  mother  was  his  best  teacher  in  di- 
recting him  to  books  and  showing  him  how  to 
love  them.  She  too  could  tell  him  many  of  the 
old  stories  of  what,  under  changed  conditions, 
now  seemed  long,  long  ago.  Of  such  is  said  to 
be.  the  'germ  of  "King  Solomon  of  Kentucky," 
a  reminiscence  handed  down  from  the  cholera 
ravages  in  Kentucky  and  the  Mississippi  Valley 
in  the  early  thirties.  Nature  and  books !  His 
own  mother  and  other  mother,  Blue  Grass  Ken- 
tucky!  What  better  sources  of  nurture,  if  right- 
ly used,  spiritual,  educational,  and  literary,  could 
a  young  boy  have  ?  The  very  reverses  which 
threw  these  stout  hearts  back  upon  themselves 
made  every  impression  and  every  experience  all 
the  deeper.  It  was  not  until  the  appearance  of 
the  "Kentucky  Cardinal"  that  there  was  revealed 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  167 

the  rich  inner  spiritual  life  of  an  extremely  sen- 
sitive nature. 

One  year  after  the  close  of  the  war,  with  the 
reopening  of  the  old  Transylvania  University  of 
Kentucky  under  favorable  auspices,  James  Lane 
Allen  entered  college  as  a  student  in  the  academic 
department.  It  was  contemporary  with  David's 
entrance  into  the  theological  department  of  the 
University,  the  Bible  College,  as  told  in  "The 
Reign  of  Law."  The  location  of  the  University 
was  in  Lexington,  the  leading  town  of  Central 
Kentucky,  a  few  miles  from  the  Aliens'  country 
home.  Under  whatever  hardships,  the  best 
Southern  traditions  were  then  and  still  are  to 
make  the  son  of  the  family  at  least  an  educated 
man  and  gentleman.  At  that  time,  and  still 
an  excellent  article  of  faith  in  all  Church  or  de- 
nominational colleges,  the  classics  of  Latin  and 
Greek  formed  the  chief  diet  for  study.  What 
knowedge  of  English  was  obtained  was  chiefly 
through  the  medium  of  the  translation  and  syn- 
tax of  the  ancient  classics.  The  reading  of  good 
literature  was  rather  a  tradition  than  an  exac- 
tion, generally  followed  and  left  to  the  leisure 
hours  and  inclinations  of  the  student  himself.  In 
the  hands  of  a  capable  teacher,  every  bright  stu- 
dent has  the  ambition  to  become  equally  as  good 


1 68  JAMES    LANK   ALLEN. 

a  scholar  as  has  teacher  and  himself  teach  that 
subject.  And  the  study  of  the  Latin  and  Greek 
authors  as  preparatory  to  the  study  of  English 
or  a  love  of  literature  has  been  the  basis  built 
upon  by  many  of  our  best  workers.  The  young 
student  furthermore  soon  pushed  his  way  into 
an  acquaintance  at  least  with  the  modern  lan- 
guages and  got  some  glimpses  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  their  literatures. 

Having  completed  the  college  course  and  fur- 
ther pursued  his  studies  so  far  into  wider  fields 
as  to  obtain  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts- 
doubtless  at  great  pains  and  cost  of  both  self  and 
home — there  was  nothing  for  the  Southern 
young  man  without  means  and  under  some  obli- 
gations to  do  but  teach  and  help  pay  expenses. 
Mr.  Allen  first  taught  a  country  school  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Lexington,  like  John  Gray  in 
"The  Choir  Invisible/'  yet  with  what  a  differ- 
ence! Twelve  miles  a  day  he  walked,  six  there 
and  six  back  to  his  mother's  home.  Then  there 
was  a  school  in  Missouri,  later  another  in  a  neigh- 
boring Kentucky  county,  next  came  recognition 
from  his  Alma  Mater  in  a  tutorship,  and  at  length 
advancement  to  the  chair  of  Latin  and  Greek  in 
Bethany  College,  West  Virginia,  the  leading  in- 
stitution of  learning  of  the  "Christian  Church/' 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEX.  169 

founded  by  the  apostle  of  the  order,  the  Rev.  Al- 
exander Campbell.  In  these  years  he  doubtless 
had  the  opportunity  of  a  wider  survey  of  lan- 
guage and  literature  study,  of  the  moderns  as 
well  as  the  ancients,  and  began  to  test  and  put 
into  practice  many  theories  of  composition. 
Particularly  his  study,  readings,  and  practice  in 
the  field  of  English  literature  and  composition 
must  have  become  developed.  Much  of  the  care 
and  thought  and  happy  appreciation  and  nice 
distinctions  of  his  written  style  reveal  such 
knowledge  and  training. 

With  his  work  seemingly  mapped  out  before 
him,  his  earliest  ambitions  were  in  exact  and  ripe 
scholarship.  He  had  planned  a  trip  abroad  for 
a  stay  at  the  German  universities;  and  after  the 
Johns  Hopkins  University  was  opened  as  the 
first  distinctively  for  advanced  graduate  work 
in  America,  he  was  in  correspondence  with  its 
officials,  and  there  seemed  all  probability  that 
the  doctor's  hood  was  destined  for  him.  But  the 
call  of  literature  upon  him  became  more  and  more 
urgent,  and  the  restrictions  of  its  exercise  when 
hampered  by  the  daily  routine  work  of  the  class 
room  weighted  him  down.  Perhaps,  too,  the 
conditions  of  his  professorship  in  a  compara- 
tively small  denominational  college  were  not  en- 


I?0  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

tirely  congenial.  There  is  a  report  that  a  min- 
ister of  the  denomination  was  an  applicant  for 
his  chair,  and  that  such  a  one  succeeded  him—- 
which may  or  may  not  be  true,  although  the  case 
has  often  happened  elsewhere.  At  any  rate,  it 
was  inevitable  that  he  should  find  out  the  paths 
of  his  own  genius*  and,  though  late,  have  had  the 
determination  to  enter  upon  them.  This  last  de- 
manded not  a  little  courage.  A  professorship, 
even  if  poorly  paid,  was  at  least  something  fairly 
definite,  though  often  with  varying  value.  Many 
must  have  been  the  misgivings  and  dishearten- 
ings  of  friends,  and  possibly  even  of  his  imme- 
diate family.  Literature  as  a  profession  then,  in 
the  South  and  in  Kentucky  was  worse  than 
doubtful.  And  it  is  doubtful  anywhere  now,  un- 
til success  comes. 

It  was  about  1884  that  this  determination  to 
devote  himself  henceforth  to  literary  work  was 
put  into  effect.  It  was  naturally  to  New  York  that 
he  looked,  the  publishing  center  not  only  of  the 
American  magazines  but  of  newspapers  that 
had  standards  and  paid  something  for  work.  In 
a  "tribute  of  one  who  was  once  his  pupil,"  Mr. 
John  Fox,  Jr.  (himself  a  literary  worker  of  no 
mean  power),  to  be  found  in  The  Writer,  Boston, 
July,  1891,  is  given  briefly  the  most  definite 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  171 

statement  of  Mr.  Allen's  first  work :  "Letters, 
chiefly  on  Southern  subjects,  were  coming  out  in 
the  New  York  Evening  Post,  and  occasionally  a 
poem  appeared  in  Harper's,  the  Atlantic,  or  Lip- 
pincott's,  or  an  essay,  critical  or  humorous,  in  the 
Critic  or  the  Forum.  So  that  Mr.  Allen  was 
widely  known  as  a  critic  and  essayist  before  the 
first  of  his  striking  tales."  From  the  same  hand 
he  is  at  this  time  thus  enthusiastically  described  : 
"I  believe  I  know  no  man  whom  nature  has 
made  quite  so  near  what  a  man  should  be  in 
mind,  character,  and  physique.  Physically,  Lane 
Allen,  as  he  is  intimately  known,  is  not  much 
unlike  Gordon  Helm,  the  hero  of  'Sister  Doloro- 
sa :'  Saxon  in  type,  tall,  splendidly  proportioned, 
with  a  magnificent  head  and  a  strong,  kindly 
face.  I  know  not  whether  I  admire  him  most 
for  his  brain  or  for  his  heart,  his  exquisite  cul- 
tivation or  his  greatness  of  soul.  His  manner 
is  what  all  Southerners  like  to  believe  was  the 
manner  of  typical  Southern  gentlemen  of  the  old 
school." 

The  articles  in  the  New  York  Post  concerned 
the  Cumberland  Mountains,  and  an  order  came 
for  sketches  of  the  blue  grass  section  of  Ken- 
tucky for  Harper's  Magazine.  These  two  series 
of  writings  formed  the  basis  of  the  first  distinc- 


172  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

tive  piece  of  work  from  Mr.  Allen's  pen,  and 
these  descriptive  sketches  were  afterwards  gath- 
ered into  a  volume  under  the  title  "The  Blue 
Grass  Region  of  Kentucky,"  interestingly 
enough  now  followed,  ten  years  later,  by  Mr. 
John  Fox's  own  series  of  portrayals,  in  a  some- 
what different  vein,  less  formal  and  more  ad- 
venturous, as  indicated  by  the  title :  "Blue  Grass 
and  Rhododendron."  These  sketches  of  Mr. 
Allen's  were  mere  training  work,  and  were  felt 
as  such.  But  yet,  while  they  are  "mere  training 
work/'  as  compared  with  the  richness  and  spir- 
itual value  of  the  interpretations  of  Kentucky 
life  and  landscape  which  followed,  it  would  be 
wrong  to  give  the  impression  that  they  consti- 
tute nothing  better  than  "hack-work."  Already 
the  poet  and  lover  is  there,  who  has  grown  up 
amid  these  scenes  and  sees  these  sights  out- 
wardly, yet  in  a  degree  spiritually,  too,  and  tells 
of  them  sympathetically  to  others.  But  this  ap- 
plies only  to  the  descriptions  of  his  blue  grass 
section.  Of  Cumberland  Gap  and  Eastern  Ken- 
tucky there  is  a  difference  in  style,  as  there  is 
a  difference  in  subject-matter.  Everywhere  is 
the  loyal  Kentuckian,  but  with  these  parts  he  is 
acquainted  only  externally  by  visiting  them. 
But  -however  much  the  moods  and  words  of  a 


JAMES    LA.NE    ALLEN.  173 

lover,  even  the  best  descriptions  do  not  as  yet 
reveal  the  rarely  spiritual  qualities  into  which 
the  author  was  to  grow.  These  first  came  with 
the  "Cardinal"  and  "Butterflies,"  and  are  seen, 
after  a  summer's  visit  to  England,  in  such  a 
contribution  as  that  in  the  Southern  Magazine 
(Louisville,  February,  1896)  on  "English  Wood 
Notes  with  Kentucky  Echoes." 

With  the  acceptance  and  publication  of  these 
sketches  Mr.  Allen  may  be  regarded  as  fairly 
launched  upon  his  literary  life.  For  a  time  he 
made  his  home  in  Cincinnati,  in  order  to  be  near 
his  material  and  to  be  able  at  least  to  see  the 
physical  outlines  of  Kentucky  soil,  yet  so  as  to 
be  within  access  of  a  center  of  life  and  of 
books.  Finding  at  length  this  too  limited,  he 
ventures  for  a  short  space  to  Washington  as  the 
national  capital  and  possible  future  home  for  lit- 
erature and  art  in  America.  Social  and  official 
distractions  interfere,  and  soon  he  is  drawn  to 
the  publishing  and  bookmaking  and  working 
center  of  the  United  States,  as  the  best  environ- 
ment for  the  steady  employment  of  his  powers. 
Thus  it  is  in  the  heart  of  New  York  City  that 
Mr.  Allen  at  present  lives  and  finds  he  can  most 
easily  lose  himself  in  his  work. 


174  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

III. 

Mr.  Allen's  work  belongs  to  the  last  fifteen 
years,  and  the  appearance  of  his  collected  work- 
in  volumes  essentially  to  the  last  ten.  His  first 
volume  was  made  up  of  six  pieces  which  had 
previously  appeared  in  the  magazines — one 
from  Harper's  and  the  remaining  five  from  the 
Century.  He  had,  therefore,  been  before  the 
public  some  years  when  the  Messrs.  Harper  pub- 
lished this  volume  in  1891.  The  exact  title  was 
"Flute  and  Violin,  and  Other  Kentucky  Tales 
and  Romances,"  and  the  volume  was  dedicated 
to  his  mother.  The  contents  were:  "Flute  and 
Violin"  ("The  Parson's  Magic  Flute"  and  "A 
Boy's  Violin"),  "King  Solomon  of  Kentucky," 
"Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky,"  "The  White 
Cowl,"  "Sister  Dolorosa,."  and  "Posthumous 
Fame."  The  story  of  the  "Flute  and  Violin" 
had  announced  a  master  of  very  delicately  hu- 
morous and  pathetic  effect;  the  "White  Cowl" 
and  "Sister  Dolorosa"  had  wonderfully  pupular- 
ized  him.  Particularly  the  last  made  little  less 
than  a  sensation  among  more  emotional  readers 
when  it  first  came  out  in  the  Century  Magazine. 

The  sub-title  reveals  the  romantic  character 
of  the  volume,  and  the  author's  interest  in  and 
consciousness  of  the  past.  The  process  of  his 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  175 

development,  as  has  been  said,  has  been  that  of 
the  romanticist  in  nature 'changing  to  the  realist 
in  method.  As  the  realities  of  life  press  about 
him  and  he  gains  in  experience,  he  turns  from 
the  past  to  the  present — from  the  past  with  its 
romance  to  the  present  full  of  its  questionings. 
It  is  Kentucky's  history  that  holds  him,  the  past 
of  his  own  State,  rilled  with  rich  traditions  and 
associations.  The  early  history  of  Lexington 
and  the  beginnings  of  Transylvania  University 
furnish  the  material  for  the  first  story  m  the  fig- 
ure of  the  Rev.  James  Moore,  who  had  been 
brought  up  a  Presbyterian  but  had  become  the 
first  Episcopal  minister  in  the  Western  settle- 
ments, with  his  weakness  for  flute-playing  and 
his  attractiveness  for  the  female  portion  of  his 
congregation.  Both  the  Rev.  James  Moore  and 
a  phase  of  the  history  of  this  institution  of  learn- 
ing reappear  in  Mr.  Allen's  later  work.  The 
wise  and  gentle  counselor  and  friend  of  John 
Gray  in  the  "Choir  Invisible"  is  this  same  flute- 
loving  parson  at  an  earlier  and  more  vigorous 
stage  of  his  carrer ;  and  it  is  in  a  department  of 
Transylvania  University,  just  after  the  war,  that 
the  scene  of  the  major  part  of  "The  Reign  of 
Law"  is  laid. 

A  characteristic  description  of  the  past  ap- 


r76  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

pears  after  three  or  four  pages  :  "the  two-story 
log  house ;  .  .  .  his  supper  of  coffee  sweetened 
with  brown  sugar,  hot  johnnycake,  with  per- 
haps a  cold  joint  of  venison  and  cabbage  pickle; 
.  .  .  the  solitary  tallow  dip  in  its  little  brass 
candlestick ;  .  .  .  the  rude,  steep  stairs ;  .  .  .  the 
leathern  string  that  lifted  the  latch ;  .  .  .  a  little 
deal  table  covered  with  text-books  and  sermons ; 
...  a  rush-bottomed  chair."  These  bits  are  a 
sample  of  the  picturesque  elements  that  Mr.  Allen 
has  gathered  from  many  quarters. 

The  powers  of  description  of  nature  are  begin- 
ning in  the  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky,"  as  it 
opens  with  the  picture :  "The  Woods  Are 
Hushed."  Yet  the  excess  of  rhetoric  is  discerni- 
ble, and  it  is  "finer"  writing  than  the  author  per- 
mits himself  in  maturer  pieces  like  the  "Ken- 
tucky Cardinal"  and  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  redo- 
lent with  the  feeling  for  nature  and  its  inner 
spiritual  forces.  It  is  one  of  the  author's  earliest 
compositions,  and  we  may  therefore  contrast  it 
with  some  profit  with  his  latest  work.  Both  are 
pictures  of  the  season  of  autumn.  "The  Eternal 
Power  seemed  to  have  quitted  the  universe  and 
left  all  nature  folded  in  the  calm  of  the  Eternal 
Peace.  Around  the  pale-blue  dome  of  the 
heavens  a  few  pearl-colored  clouds  hung  motion- 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  177 

less,  as  though  the  wind  had  been  withdrawn  to 
other  skies.  Xot  a  crimson  leaf  floated  down- 
ward through  the  soft,  silvery  light  that  filled 
the  atmosphere  and  created  the  sense  of  lonely, 
unimaginable  spaces.  This  light  overhung  the 
far-rolling  landscape  of  field  and  meadow  and 
wood,  crowning  with  faint  radiance  the  remoter, 
low-swelling  hilltops  and  deepening  into  dreamy 
half-shadows  on  their  eastern  slopes.  Nearer,  it 
fell  in  a  white  flake  on  an  unstirred  sheet  of 
water  which  lay  along  the  edge  of  a  mass  of 
somber-hued  woodland,  and  nearer  still  it 
touched  to  springlike  brilliancy  a  level,  green 
meadow  on  the  hither  edge  of  the  water,  where 
a  group  of  Durham  cattle  stood  with  reversed 
flanks  near  the  gleaming  trunks  of  some  leafless 
sycamores.  Still  nearer,  it  caught  the  top  of  the 
brown  foliage  of  a  little  bent  oak  tree  and  burned 
it  into  silvery  flame.  It  lit  on  the  back  and  the 
wings  of  a  crow  flying  heavily  in  the  path  of  its 
rays,  and  made  his  blackness  as  white  as  the 
breast  of  a  swan.  In  the  immediate  foreground 
it  sparkled  in  minute  gleams  along  the  stalks  of 
the  coarse,  dead  weeds  that  fell  away  from  the 
legs  and  the  flanks  of  a  white  horse,  and  slanted 
across  the  face  of  the  rider  and  through  the  ends 
12 


I7  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

of  his  gray  hair,  which  straggled  from  beneath 
his  soft  black  hat." 

In  the  following  from  the  opening  chapter  of 
"The  Reign  of  Law"  observe  how  more  concrete 
and  restrained,  yet  passionate  and  vital,  is  the 
description  :  "One  day  something  is  gone  from 
earth  and  sky :  autumn  has  come,  season  of 
scales  and  balances,  when  the  earth,  brought  to 
judgment  for  its  fruits,  says,  'I  have  done  what 
I  could.  Now  let  me  rest.' 

"Fall ! — and  everywhere  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  falling.  In  the  woods,  through  the  cool,  sil- 
very air,  the  leaves,  so  indispensable  once,  so  use- 
less now.  Bright  day  after  bright  day,  dripping 
night  after  dripping  night,  the  never-ending  fil- 
tering or  gusty  fall  of  leaves.  The  fall  of  wal- 
nuts, dropping  from  bare  boughs  with  muffled 
boom  into  the  deep  grass.  The  fall  of  the  hick- 
ory nut,  rattling  noisily  down  through  the  scaly 
limbs  and  scattering  its  hulls  among  the  stones 
of  the  brook  below.  The  fall  of  buckeyes,  roll- 
ing like  balls  of  mahogany  into  the  little  dust 
paths  made  by  sheep  in  the  hot  months  when 
they  had  sought  those  roofs  of  leaves.  The  fall 
of  acorns,  leaping  out  of  their  matted  green  cups 
as  they  strike  the  root  earth.  The  fall  of  red 
haw,  persimmon,  and  pawpaw,  and  the  odorous 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  I?9 

wild  plum  in  its  valley  thickets.  The  fall  of  all 
seeds  whatsoever  of  the  forest,  now  made  ripe  in 
their  high  places  and  sent  back  to  the  ground, 
there  to  be  folded  in  against  the  time  when  they 
shall  arise  again  as  the  living  generations ;  the 
homing,  downward  flight  of  the  seeds  in  the 
many-colored  woods  all  over  the  quiet  land. 

"In  the  fields,  too,  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
falling,  the  fall  of  the  standing  fatness.  The 
silent  fall  of  the  tobacco,  to  be  hung  head  down- 
ward in  fragrant  sheds  and  barns.  The  felling 
whack  of  the  corn  knife  and  the  rustling  of  the 
blades  as  the  workman  gathers  within  his  arm 
the  top-heavy  .stalks  and  presses  them  into  the 
bulging  shock.  The  fall  of  pumpkins  into  the 
slow-drawn  wagons,  the  shaded  side  of  them  still 
white  with  the  morning  rime.  In  the  orchards, 
the  fall  of  apples  shaken  thunderously  down,  and 
the  piling  of  these  in  sprawling  heaps  near 
the  cider  mills.  In  the  vineyards,  the  fall  of 
sugaring  grapes  into  the  baskets  and  the  bear- 
ing of  them  to  the  wine  press  in  the  cool  sun- 
shine, where  there  is  the  late  droning  of  bees 
about  the  sweet  pomace." 

There  are  other  significant  points  of  develop- 
ment between  early  and  later  work.    Mr.  Allen's  . 
search  for  the  elusive  word  is  from  the  first  a 


l8o  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

characteristic,  though  in  this  earlier  work  we 
can  meet  words  we  need  not  expect  to  find  later. 
For  instance,  we  know  he  has  got  beyond, 
"James  kicked  against  such  rigor  in  his  breth- 
ren." The  same  adjective  is  often  repeated— 
particularly  "shy"  is  a  favorite  epithet  in  deal- 
ing with  the  parson.  Conscious  gleams  of  fan- 
cy are  "wool-gathered" — the  past  participle  for 
the  usual  present ;  or  an  expression  like,  "One 
might  say  that  he  was  playing  the  cradle  song  of 
hi\s  mind." 

Humor  and  pathos  lie  close  together — the 
gently  amusing  by  the  side  of  the  tragic — in 
these  earty  pieces.  There  are  many  deft  touches. 
The.  Rev.  James  Moore's  chair  of  philosophy  was 
"a  large  chair  to  sit  in  with  ill-matched  legs  and 
most  uncertain  bottom" — a  note  now  reminding 
singularly  of  the  later  condition  of  that  chair  in 
"The  Reign  of  Law."  The  prophecy  of  delicacy 
of  humor  was  fulfilled,  too,  although  the  serious- 
ness of  Mr.  Allen's  views  of  art  and  of  life  over- 
shadow it.  Here  is  a  small  portion  of  the  de- 
scription of  the  bachelor  parson :  "A  bache- 
lor— being  a  logician ;  therefore  sweet-tempered, 
never  having  sipped  the  sour  cup  of  experience ; 
gazing  covertly  at  womankind  from  behind  the 
delicate  veil  of  unfamiliaritv  that  lends  enchant- 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 


181 


ment ;  being  a  bachelor  and  a  bookworm,  there- 
fore already  old  at  forty,  and  a  little  run  down  in 
his  toilets,  a  little  frayed  out  at  the  elbows  and 
the  knees,  a  little  seamy  along  the  back,  a  little 
deficient  at  the  heels  ;  in  pocket  poor  always,  and 
always  the  poorer  because  of  a  spendthrift  habit 
in  the  matter  of  secret  charities  ;  .  .  .  gentle, 
lovable  ;  timid,  resolute  ;  forgetful,  remorseful ; 
eccentric,  impulsive,  thinking  too  well  of  every 
human  creature  but  himself ;  an  illogical  logician, 
an  erring  moralist,  a  wool-gathered  philosopher, 
but,  humanly  speaking,  almost  a  perfect  man." 

Compare  with  this  the  affectionate  portrayal 
of  another  bachelor  in  the  "Two  Gentlemen  of 
Kentucky :"  "It  was  a  subtle  evidence  of  dete- 
rioration in  manliness  that  he  had  taken  to  dress. 
.  .  .  Usually  he  wore  a  derby  hat,  a  black 
diagonal  coat,  gray  trousers,  and  a  white  necktie. 
But  the  article  of  attire  in  which  he  took  chief 
pleasure  was  hose ;  and,  the  better  to  show  the  gay 
colors  of  these,  he  wore  low-cut  shoes  of  the  finest 
calfskin,  turned  up  at  the  toes.  Thus  his  feet  kept 
pace  with  the  present,  however  far  his  head  may 
have  lagged  in  the  past ;  and  it  may  be  that  this 
stream  of  fresh  fashions,  flowing  perennially  over 
his  lower  extremities  like  water  about  the  roots  of 
a  tree,  kept  him  from  drying  up  altogether. 


1 82  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

"Peter  always  polished  his  shoes  with  too  much 
blacking,  perhaps  thinking  that  the  more  the 
blacking  the  greater  the  proof  of  love.  He  wore 
his  clothes  about  a  season  and  a  half — having 
several  suits — and  then  passed  them  on  to 
Peter.  .  .  .  To  have  seen  the  Colonel  walk- 
ing about  his  grounds  and  garden,  followed 
by  Peter,  just  a  year  and  a  half  behind  in 
dress  and  a  yard  and  a  half  behind  in 
space,  one  might  well  have  taken  the  rear  fig- 
ure for  the  Colonel's  double,  slightly  the  worse 
for  wear,  somewhat  shrunken,  and  cast  into  a 
heavy  shadow."  There  could  also  be  added  the 
description  of  Peter's  preacher's  garb — the  blue 
jeans  dress  coat  with  the  long  and  spacious  tails, 
having  a  border  of  biblical  texts.  The  same  spirit 
prevails  in  the  tenderness  of  the  portrayal  of  the 
Colonel's  death,  and  then  Peter's :  "It  was  per- 
haps fitting  that  his  (Peter's)  winding  sheet 
should  be  the  vestment  in  which,  years  agone,  he 
had  preached  to  his  fellow-slaves  in  bondage ;  for 
if  it  so  be  that  the  dead  of  this  planet  shall  come 
forth  from  their  graves  clad  in  the  trappings  of 
mortality,  then  Peter  should  arise  on  the  Resur- 
rection Day  wearing  his  old  jeans  coat."  In 
the  bachelors  of  these  two  pieces  is  the  genius 
of  the  later,  though  younger,  one  in  "The  Ken- 
tucky Cardinal." 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  183 

Here  is  the  sense  of  the  picturesque  too :  "Nev- 
er before  had  the  stub  of  the  little  crutch  been 
plied  so  nimbly  among  the  stones  of  the  rough 
sidewalk.  Never  before  had  he  made  a  prettier 
picture,  with  the  blue  cap  pushed  far  back  from 
his  forehead,  his  yellow  hair  blowing  about  his 
face,  the  old  black  satin  waistcoat  flopping  like 
a  pair  of  disjointed  wings  against  his  sides,  the 
open  newspaper  streaming  backward  from  his 
hand,  and  his  face  alive  with  hooe."  The  ex- 
quisiteness  of  the  picture  of  the  little  lame  child 
and  the  sacrificing  love  of  the  parson  for  him 
show  the  author's  broad,  gentle  humanity.  An- 
other picture  in  the  court  room  at  the  close  of 
"King  Solomon  of  Kentucky"  almost  chokes  a 
sob  in  the  simple  telling. 

Yet  with  all  the  high  praise  they  command,  the 
descriptive  passages  are  almost  unimportant  when 
compared  with  the  extreme  felicity  and  happiness 
of  those  of  later  pieces.  Thus  it  happened  that  the 
spirit  of  the  "Cardinal"  came  with  such  surprise 
to  a  number  of  the  readers  of  these  sketches.  The 
art  of  description  is  employed  more  freely  in  both 
"The  White  Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa,"  but  it 
is  used  merely  as  setting  and  background;  not 
yet,  as  in  the  later  pieces,  is  it  the  heart  and  soul 
of  the  movement.  There  is  a  casual  reference  to 


J4  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

hemp  in  "King  Solomon;"  in  "The  Reign  of 
Law"  the  stages  of  the  hemp  in  the  fields  not  only 
illustrate  the  story  but  constitute  an  image  of  all 
life. 

The  order  of  composition  of  the  stories  in 
the  "Flute  and  Violin"  volume  is  really  fortui- 
tous. It  seems  to  begin  chronologically  with 
the  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky/'  written  in 
exemplification  of  the  author's  theory  that  the 
glory  of  the  new  Southern  fiction  after  the  war 
was  that  it  helped  in  uniting  North  and  South 
by  revealing  to  the  world  the  tender  relations 
which  had  existed  between  master  and  man.  This 
is  a  story,  with  a  blending  of  both  humor  and  pa- 
thos, of  the  decay  of  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school 
and  his  devoted  negro  attendant,,  another  gentle- 
man of  the  same  school.  Both,  stranded  on  the 
shores  of  a  new  sort  of  world,  pass  down  the  slope 
of  life  together  until  at  last  they  lie  side  by  side  in 
their  graves.  Mr.  Allen  is  in  this  story  in  closest 
touch  with  Mr.  Page  of  Virginia,  and  Mr.  Har- 
ris of  Georgia.  But  if  he  follows  them  in  gen- 
eral theme,  the  treatment  is  still  individual,  and  he 
soon  passes  away  into  definite  paths  of  his  own. 

A  darker  picture  of  relations  between  white  and 
black  is  touched  on  in  "King  Solomon  of  Ken- 
tucky." The  basis  of  the  story  is  historic,  a  rem- 


JAMES    LANK    ALLEN.  185 

iniscence  from  the  cholera  devastation  in  Ken- 
tucky in  the  thirties.  The  shiftless,  run-down 
white  man  is  sold  at  public  outer}-  for  service,  and 
is  bought  in  by  a  freed  negro  woman,  who  saves 
him  and  serves  him  and  leaves  him  free.  The 
terrible  cholera, epidemic  overwhelms  the  town — 
it  is  a  page  out  of  the  life  of  Lexington  that 
is  portrayed — and  King  Solomon's  redemption 
comes  at  last  in  his  bravery  in  resolutely  digging 
graves  for  the  scores  of  dead,  when  all  others  had 
fled.  The  picture  becomes  more  than  pathetic ; 
it  grows  grimly  tragical  and  heroic,  in  the  rela- 
tion of  slave  and  free,  black  and  white,  and  in  the 
dawning  of  spiritual  possibilities  in  the  wreck  of 
a  human  soul. 

That  there  was  in  the  heart  of  Kentucky  since 
the  pioneer  days  a  colony  of  Trappist  Monks  and 
a  Convent  of  the  Stricken  Heart  came  with  a 
surprise  to  many  unacquainted  with  these  special 
facts  of  local  history.  Mr.  Allen  had  already 
called  attention  to  the  seeming  incongruity  of 
their  presence  in  his  "Blue  Grass  Region  of  Ken- 
tucky," and  in  them  he  lays  the  scene  of  the  next 
two  stories.  In  the  light  of  his  later  work,  both 
have  melodramatic  elements  and  are  too  highly 
colored.  But  this  very  use  of  the  imagination 
seized  hold  of  the  popular  fancy.  Both  have 


l86  JAMES   LANE   ALLEN. 

fundamentally  the  same  subject:  the  revolt  of  the 
human  heart  when  once  stirred  against  unnat- 
ural restraint.  A  "brother"  of  the  order  over- 
hears a  conversation  which  he  cannot  get  out  of 
his  head — he  meets  the  woman — he  is  haunted 
with  her  memory— the  inherited  Kentucky  an- 
cestral strain  asserts  itself — he  breaks  his  vows 
— he  wooes  and  wins  her — losing  all,  he  returns 
to  die.  A  "sister"  of  the  convent  meets  a  stranger 
— her  heart  is  moved  and  ensnares  her — and 
there  remains  the  unhappiness  of  her  fate. 

The  speech  of  the  cripple  to  the  young  woman 
under  the  walls  of  the  convent  in  "The  White 
Cowl,"  which  Father  Palemon  overhears,  and 
which  starts  the  vague  unrest  in  his  nature, 
shows  too  much  the  machinery  of  obtaining 
a  situation.  Mr.  Allen's  personal  note  and 
thought,  emphasized  fully  in  all  three  of  his 
latest  works,  is  the  conflict  and  self-struggles 
in  life.  Here  and  later  the  strength  o-f  the  forces 
of  Inheritance  and  Nature,  which  must  fight 
against  Circumstance,  is  the  real  subject.  And  so 
the  confession  to  the  brotherhood  is  merely  the 
first  note  of  alarm  and  danger — the  symbol  of 
the  appalling  conflict  to  ensue  within  a  man's 
heart  and  soul.  Father  Palemon  was  sprung 
from  a  violent  and  passionate  parentage,  and 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  187 

latent  fires  in  his  nature  had  never  been  supplied 
with  oxygen  from  the  air  beyond  the  daily  rou- 
tine of  his  life.  At  last  comes  the  startling,  one- 
sided self-revelation  as  the  result  of  a  one-sided 
training  and  mental  perception — just  as  in  Da- 
vid's case  in  "The  Reign  of  Law" — "the  fathers 
have  lied  to  me !"  The  storm  gathers  in  the  man's 
soul  and,  as  everywhere  when  Mr.  Allen  feels 
deeply,  Nature  takes  control,  and  his  comparisons 
and  figures  are  drawn  from  her  phenomena  and 
processes.  The  conflict  comes  to  a  crisis — the 
same  sort  of  a  conflict  as  was  later  in  the  hemp 
fields.  And  after  a  storm,  Nature  seems  very- 
sweet  :  "Another  June  came  quickly  into  the  lone- 
ly valley  of  the  Abbey  of  Gethsemane.  Again 
the  same  sweet  monastery  bells  in  the  purple  twi- 
lights, and  the  same  midnight  masses.  Monks 
again  at  work  in  the  gardens,  their  cowls  well 
tied  up  with  hempen  cords.  Monks  once  more 
teaching  the  pious  pupils  in  the  school  across  the 
lane."  There  is  something  forced  in  the  situa- 
tion— too  imaginative,  possibly,  for  actual  condi- 
tions ;  and  yet  the  central  thought  of  struggle 
of  forces  and  natures  must  be  true — to  one  of  Mr. 
Allen's  character  and  temperament  is  true.  Hence 
an  inner  growth  and  warring  is  the  breath  of  his 
later  pieces. 


l88  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

"The  White  Cowl"  has  more  vehemence  and 
passion;  "Sister  Dolorosa"  more  tenderness  and 
sympathy.  The  success  and  popularity  of  "Sister 
Dolorosa"  upon  its  appearance  were  instantaneous 
and  unmistakable.  Looking  at  the  story  more 
calmly  in  the  light  of  later  work,  it  is  less  probable, 
is  farther  away  from  actual  life,  but  is  more  ap- 
pealing because  it  is  so  imagined.  This  produces 
some  excess  of  "fine"  writing  and  an  abundance  of 
conceits.  It  is  not  so  simple,  not  so  natural  in 
point  of  mere  style.  The  physical  ears  may  not 
be  closed,  but  convey  a  message  to  spiritual  ears. 
It  is  again  from  a  conversation  that  the  conflict 
ensues  between  narrower  and  wider  conceptions 
— life  without  love  and  life  with  a  knowledge  of 
what  love  means.  This  grows  evident  in  the  por- 
tents, the  signs,  the  symbols,  the  seed  of  inherit- 
ance ever  consciously  present,  the  conversation, 
the  allegorizing,  the  communion  with  nature,  the 
addresses  to  the  white  violet,  the  English  sparrow, 
and  the  butterfly.  The  normal  Kentucky  ideal  of 
manhood  is  expressed  by  Helm  Gordon.  The 
chill  felt  upon  entering  the  convent  is  one  from 
personal  experience :  the  lack  of  sympathy 
strengthening  into  a  distinct  protest  for  the  young 
life  crushed  out.  The  accidental  shooting  was 
not  inevitable,  but  is  an  obtrusion  of  machinery 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  189 

into  the  piece.  And  so  with  the  end.  The  tale 
is  screwed  to  too  high  a  pitch ;  it  is  elaborated 
in  its  rhetorical  effects ;  it  works  on  the  emotions 
of  those  who  lend  themselves  to  it ;  and  the  end- 
ing is  not  true.  And  yet,  despite  all  this,  one 
must  bear  witness  to  the  strong  impression  left 
by  the  delicacy  and  intensity  of  the  story  upon  its 
first  reading,  and  many  pictures  in  it,  worthy  of 
the  painter,  remain  fixed  in  memory. 

The  last  tale  of  the  series  is  of  much  less  in- 
terest: "Posthumous  Fame,  or  a  Legend  of  the 
Beautiful."  It  is  like  the  method  of  Hawthorne 
— whom  Mr.  Allen  elsewhere  suggests — in  "The 
Ambitious  Guest"  or  "The  Great  Stone  Face." 
However,  "Posthumous  Fame"  cannot  take  rank 
with  the  marvelous  purity  and  simplicity  of  these. 
The  allegory  is  slight :  an  artist  erects  a  beautiful 
monument  to  make  his  love  famous — and  instead, 
so  misleading  become  reports,  she  is  held  as  in- 
famous, and  in  rage  he  breaks  his  masterpiece 
into  splinters.  It  is  the  least  satisfactory  of  the 
sketches,  because  it  is  farthest  removed  from  life. 

The  gem  of  the  collection,  viewed  from  its 
growing  insight  into  life  and  the  portrayal  of 
human  nature,  is  unquestionably  the  one  which 
gives  its  name  to  the  series,  "Flute  and  Violin." 
It  was  suggested  by  a  slab  of  marble  to  the  mem- 


19°  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

ory  of  the  Rev.  James  Moore,  in  Christ  Church, 
Lexington,  and  is  a  very  real  page  from  the  ro- 
mance of  the  past,  delicately,  naturally,  and  hu- 
morously drawn.  Its  sympathy  and  interest,  the 
humor  and  the  pathos  of  its  situations,  the  re- 
action of  circumstance  on  life,  and  the  stiffening 
of  the  moral  qualities,  are  its  traits :  the  dear 
flute-playing  bachelor  parson;  the  widow  Spur- 
lock  and  dame  Furnace  spying  through  the  key- 
hole and  the  window,  both  of  which  have  been 
made  more  spacious  in  order  "to  provide  the 
parson  unawares  with  a  .sufficiency  of  air  and 
light;"  the  widow  Babcock  silently  weeping  be- 
hind her  veil  as  she  hears  the  parson's  solemn 
warning  on  "The  Kiss  that  Betray eth ;"  the 
temptation  of  the  crippled  boy ;  the  union  of  both 
flute  and  violin  hung  solemnly  in  memory  on  the 
wall,  unconscious  instruments,  symbolical  of  the 
tragedy  that  resulted.  It  is  a  piece  which  takes 
hold  of  the  heart — the  reader  both  smiles  and  is 
touched,  and  he  remembers. 

One  chief  trait  of  the  writer  is  already  ap- 
parent— the  serious  view  Mr.  Allen  has  of  his 
art.  He  may  sometimes  obtrude  this,  but  we  are 
none  the  less  grateful.  He  is  already  an  avowed 
and  conscious  artist,  which  means  primarily  he  is 
an  artist.  And  this  first  consciousness  has  passed 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  19! 

into  careful  workmanship  with  due  regard  to  ef- 
fect. We  may  see  the  worker,  but  we  like  the 
work.  That  he  is  even  now  a  close  critic  of  his 
own  work  is  seen  in  his  working  over  what  he 
has  done — strengthening  and  refining.  "The 
White  Cowl/'  it  is  said,  he  worked  over  at  least 
four  times.  Witness  the  later  conversion  of  "Jonn 
Gray"  into  "The  Choir  Invisible"  and  the  changes 
in  the  ending  of  "Butterflies."  He  holds  a  manu- 
script a  long  time  before  he  lets  it  go  to  the 
printer,  and  I  fancy  more  than  one  proof  with 
additions  and  alterations  go  back  and  forth  to 
the  composing  room.  But  this  strong  concep- 
tion of  his  art,  this  polishing  over  again  and 
again,  has  produced  a  form  that  the  reader  may 
delight  in  and  which  will  last  longer  than  mere 
stories  told  for  a  day.  It  is  his  distinction  that 
he  is  a  master  of  a  pure  literary  English  style. 
When  the  chief  defect  of  the  literature  of  the 
Southern  States  is  that  it  lacks  the  highest  culture 
and  is,  too,  largely  in  dialect,  it  is  surely  to  Mr. 
Allen's  credit  that  he  works  with  the  King's  Eng- 
lish as  material  for  finely  artistic  results.  In 
this  spirit  he  next  produces  both  his  most  popu- 
lar book  and  his  masterpiece  in  the  delicate  per- 
fection of  its  literary  form — the  "Kentucky  Car- 
dinal." 


193  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

IV. 

Up  to  this  time  in  Mr.  Allen's  work,  as  before 
remarked,  we  had  had  Nature  as  a  background, 
always  visible,  but  largely  external;  we  had  not 
been  let  into  her  secrets.  This  Mr.  Allen  sud- 
denly does  in  the  -"Kentucky  Cardinal/'  .which 
appeared  first  in  Harper's  Magazine  in  1893-94. 
It  denotes  a  new  epoch  in  his  artistic  work  and 
growth.  To  those  of  us  reading  each  sketch 
of  his  as  it  had  come  out,  it  gave  a  thrill  we  had 
not  dared  anticipate.  It  is  a  pastoral  poem  in 
prose,  noting'  the  procession  of  the  seasons.  Here 
was  the  heart  of  Nature  laid  bare ;  here  wrote  a 
novelist  who  at  the  same  time  was  a  disciple  of 
Thoreau  and  Audubon.  Indeed,  the  spirit  of 
Audubon  hovers  through  the  book,  as  his  per- 
son had  traversed  these  scenes  in  earlier  days, 
and  veneration  of  the  master  is  the  first  bond 
of  union  between  Adam  and  Georgiana.  Sylvia, 
as  her  pastoral  name  suggests,  is  a  little  creature 
of  the  sun  and  earth,  and  fits  naturally  into  the 
landscape.  As  we  turn  the  pages,  everything 
speaks  of  one  intimately  present  at  Nature's  proc- 
esses: the  freezing  and  the  thawing,  the  depths 
of  winter's  cold  and  the  glistening  in  the  sunlight. 
We  feel  Nature  in  her  moods.  The  very  similes 
are  taken  from  Nature's  laws  and  appearances, 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN.  193 

which  continues  true  of  all  Mr.  Allen's  work 
henceforth.  And  this  love  and  close  observation 
of  Nature  leads  him  into  the  study  of  the  laws 
underlying  the  physical  universe.  Nature  and  hu- 
manity become  united.  There  is  the  poetry  of  the 
country  in  the  prodigal  gifts  and  appearances  of 
Nature;  there  is  the  prose  of  town  in  the  com- 
munion with  men.  "The  longer  I  live  here,  the 
better  satisfied  I  am  in  having  pitched  my  earthly 
camp  fire,  gypsy-like,  on  the  edge  of  a  town, 
keeping  it  on  one  side,  and  the  green  fields,  lanes, 
and  woods  on  the  other.  Each  in  turn  is  to  me 
as  a  magnet  to  the  needle.  At  times  the  needle  of 
my  nature  points  toward  the  country.  On  that 
side  everything  is  poetry.  I  wander  over  field 
and  forest,  and  through  me  runs  a  glad  current 
of  feeling  that  is  like  a  clear  brook  across  the 
meadows  of  May.  At  others  the  needle  veers 
round,  and  I  go  to  town — to  the  massed  haunts 
of  the  highest  animal  and  cannibal.  That  way 
nearly  everything  is  prose."  The  old  bachelor, 
"the  rain  crow/'  and  the  widow,  "the  mocking 
bird,"  are  neighbors.  Strawberries  and  "Lalla 
Rookh;"  grapes  and  "The  Seasons;"  the  arbor 
and  Sir  Walter's  novels;  the  schoolgirl  and  ap- 
ples and  salt — all  are  commingled  in  profusion, 
the  brightness  of  the  humorist  uniting  with  the 
'3 


194  JAMES   LANE   ALLEN. 

tender  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the  world  not 
made  with  hands.  The  evergreens  are  "Nature's 
hostelries  for  the  homeless  ones."  "Death,  lover 
of  the  peerless,  strikes  at  him  (the  Cardinal) 
from  afar."  "Is  it  this  flight  from  the  inescapable 
just  behind  that  makes  the  singing  of  the  red 
bird  thoughtful  and  plaintive,  and  indeed  all  the 
wild  sounds  of  nature  so  like  the  outcry  of  the 
doomed?"  "This  set  flowing  toward  me  for 
days  a  stream  of  people,  like  a  line  of  ants  passing 
to  and  from  the  scene  of  a  terrific  false  alarm.  I 
had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  perfectly  still  and  let 
each  ant,  as  it  ran  up,  touch  me  with  its  antennae, 
get  the  countersign,  and  turn  back  to  the  village 
ant-hill."  "Mrs.  Walters  does  not  get  into  our 
best  society ;  so  that  the  town  is  to  her  like  a  pond 
to  a  crane;  she  wades  round  it,  going  in  as  far 
as  she  can,  and  snatches  up  such  small  fry  as  come 
shoreward  from  the  middle.  In  this  way  lately 
I  have  gotten  hints  of  what  is  stirring  in  the 
vasty  deeps  of  village  opinion."  "The  scent  of 
spring,  is  it  not  the  first  lyric  of  the  nose — that 
despised  poet  of  the  senses  ?" — which  reminds  one 
curiously  of  Du  Manner's  scenting  of  old  Paris. 
There  is  this  swelling  in  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
Nature,  yet  as  one  restrained  and  checked  with  a 
sense  of  delicacy  in  speaking  of  his  intimates  and 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  195 

friends — an  effect  heightened  by  the  use  of  the 
first  person  in  autobiographic  and  reminiscential 
manner. 

Take  a  further  sample  of  this  intimately  playful 
mood :  "But  most  I  love  to  see  Nature  do  her 
spring  house-cleaning  in  Kentucky,  with  the  rain 
clouds  for  her  water  buckets  and  the  winds  for 
her  brooms.  What  an  amount  of  drenching  and 
sweeping  she  can  do  in  a  day !  How  she  dashes 
pailful  and  pailful  into  every  corner,  till  the  whole 
earth  is  as  clean  as  a  new  floor !  Another  day  she 
attacks  the  piles  of  dead  leaves,  where  they  have 
lain  since  last  October,  and  scatters  them  in  a 
trice,  so  that  every  cranny  may  be  sunned  and 
aired.  Or,  grasping  her  long  brooms  by  the 
handles,  she  will  go  into  the  wroods  and  beat  the 
icicles  off  the  big  trees  as  a  housewife  would 
brush  down  cobwebs ;  so  that  the  released  limbs 
straighten  up  like  a  man  who  has  gotten  out  of 
debt,  and  almost  say  to  you,  joyfully  :  'Now,  then, 
we  are  all  right  again!'  This  done,  she  begins 
to  hang  up  soft  curtains  at  the  forest  windows, 
and  to  spread  over  her  floor  a  new  carpet  of  an 
emerald  loveliness  such  as  no  mortal  looms  could 
ever  have  woven.  And  then,  at  last,  she  sends 
out  invitations  through  the  South,  and  even  to 
some  tropical  lands,  for  the  birds  to  come  and 


1$  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

spend  the  summer  in  Kentucky.  The  invitations 
are  sent  out  in  March,  and  accepted  in  April  and 
May,  and  by  June  her  house  is  full  of  visitors/' 

The  comparisons  often  run  to  epigrammatic 
point.  "Her  few  ideas  are  like  three  or  four 
marbles  on  a  level  floor;  they  have  no  power  to 
move  themselves,  but  roll  equally  in  any  direc- 
tion you  push  them."  "Women  who  tell  every- 
thing are  like  finger-bowls  of  clear  water." 
"Adam  Moss — such  a  green,  cool,  soft  name !" 

There  is  humor  and  human  nature,  along  with 
other  nature,  a  plenty:  "But  there  are  certain 
ladies  who  bow  sweetly  to  me  when  my  roses  and 
honeysuckles  burst  into  bloom ;  a  fat  old  cavalier 
of  the  South  begins  to  shake  hands  with  me  when 
my  asparagus  bed  begins  to  send  up  its  tender 
stalks  ;  I  am  in  high  favor  with  two  or  three  young 
ladies  at  the  season  of  lilies  and  sweet-pea;  there 
is  one  old  soul  who  especially  loves  rhubarb  pies, 
which  she  makes  to  look  like  little  latticed  porches 
in  front  of  little  green  skies,  and  it  is  she  who 
remembers  me  and  my  row  of  pie-plant ;  and 
still  another,  who  knows  better  than  catbirds 
when  currants  are  ripe.  Above  all  there  .is  a 
preacher,  who  thinks  my  sins  are  as  scarlet  so 
long  as  my  strawberries  are,  and  plants  himself 
in  my  bed  at  that  time  to  reason  with  me  of  judg- 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  197 

ment  to  come ;  and  a  doctor,  who  gets  despondent 
about  my  constitution  in  pear  time — after  which 
my  health  seems  to  return,  but  never  my  pears." 

It  is  again  the  "other  nature"  which  persists  in 
this  enthusiasm  of  a  sense  of  appropriation : 
''They  are  all  mine — these  Kentucky  wheat  fields. 
After  the  owner  has  taken  from  them  his  last 
sheaf,  I  come  in  and  gather  my  harvest  also — one 
that  he  did  not  see,  and  doubtless  would  not  be- 
grudge me — the  harvest  of  beauty.  Or  I  walk 
beside  tufted  aromatic  hemp-fields,  as  along  the 
shores  of  softly  foaming  emerald  seas ;  or  part 
the  rank  and  file  of  fields  of  Indian  corn,  which 
stand  like  armies  that  had  gotten  ready  to  march, 
but  been  kept  waiting  for  further  orders,  until 
at  last  the  soldiers  had  gotten  tired,  as  the  gayest 
will,  of  their  yellow  plumes  and  green  ribbons, 
and  let  their  big  hands  fall  heavily  down  at  their 
sides.  There  the  white  and  the  purple  morning- 
glories  hang  their  long  festoons  and  open  to  the 
soft  midnight  winds  their  elfin  trumpets." 

Here  is  the  Kentucky  beau's  dress  in  1850, 
the  time  of  our  story:  "Late  this  afternoon  I 
dressed  up  in  my  high  gray  w^ool  hat,  my  fine 
long-tailed  blue  cloth  coat  with  brass  buttons,  my 
pink  waistcoat,  frilled  shirt,  white  cravat,  and 
vellow  nankeen  trousers." 


I9  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

Not  till  halfway  through  the  book  are  Auclti- 
bon  and  Thoreau  specifically  mentioned,  although 
their  shades  have  wandered  from  the  first  in  this 
congenial  atmosphere.  Of  Thoreau :  "Everything 
that  I  can  find  of  his  is  as  pure  and  cold  anci 
lonely  as  a  wild  cedar  of  the  mountain  rock 
standing  far  above  its  smokeless  valley  and 
hushed  white  river."  But  Audubon  is  "the  great, 
the  very  great  Audubon,"  "that  rare  spirit  whom 
I  have  so  wished  to  see  and  for  one  week  in  the 
woods  with  whom  I  would  give  any  year  of  my 
life/1 

With  the  descriptions  of  nature  there  grows 
a  tendency  toward  moralizing  and  comment, 
but  it  is  in  a  vein  the  Anglo-Saxon  has  never 
objected  to.  It  is  Thackeray's  manner  of  being 
confidential  with  his  readers.  One  paragraph 
beginning,  "The  birds  are  molting — if  man 
could  only  molt  also,"  recalls  the  latter's 
"Roundabout"  on  De  finibns. 

In  character  portrayal  a  contrast  is  necessarily 
suggested  between  the  two  sisters,  intended 
rather  as  symbols  of  widely  differing  types. 
Sylvia  is  a  "little  half-fledged  spirit  to  whom  the 
yard  is  the  earth  and  June  eternity,  but  who 
peeps  over  the  edge  of  the  nest  at  the  chivalry 
of  the  ages,  and  fancies  that  she  knows  the 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  199 

world/'  But  the  chief  characterization,  wher- 
ever the  first  person  is  used,  lies  in  the  revelation 
of  the  gentleness,  firmness,  sensitiveness,  and 
unconscious  selfishness — all  combined — in  the 
creation,  Adam  Moss.  Georgiana  is  pale  beside 
him,  though  we  catch  here  and  there  sincere 
glimpses  of  her  too,  as  in  the  merry  twinkle  and 
good  humor  of  her  words  when  she  is  growing 
stronger — words  which  playfully  repeat  the  first 
ever  passed  between  her  and  Adam :  "Old  man, 
are  you  the  gardener?" 

The  "Cardinal"  naturally  demanded  a  sequel, 
though  there  have  been  some  to  wish  one  had 
never  been  written.  In  the  "Cardinal"  the  winter 
of  bachelordom,  thawed  by  the  springtide  of  love 
and  a  consequent  new  life,  was  blossoming  into 
the  summer  of  joy.  The  conclusion  is  "After- 
math," the  autumn  and  winter  of  life  come  again, 
the  fall  of  the  leaves  and  of  hopes,  and  the  funeral 
dirge.  The  idyllic  sweetness  has  passed  away 
with  the  flowers.  It  tells  of  the  dread  winter  of 
1851-52,  when  all  animals  unprepared  for  the 
season's  unwonted  severity  suffered  intensely. 
The  fate  of  the  Cardinal  but  preceded  their  end 
and  Georgiana's  death.  The  sympathy  with  the 
suffering  dumb  ones  of  God's  creation,  fellow- 
beings,  even  if  not  human,  prefigures  the  snow- 


200  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

storm  and  David's  care  for  the  cattle  in  "The 
Reign  of  Law/'  In  a  book  dedicated  to  Nature 
there  is  the  struggle  between  Nature  and  Love, 
and  in  the  loss  of  the  beloved  comes  the  over- 
powering sense  of  the  eternity  of  Nature.  In 
"The  Reign  of  Law"  almost  the  converse  is 
suggested :  the  cruelty  and  severity  of  Nature 
softened  through  Love. 

Like  its  predecessor,  "Aftermath"  is  a  story 
commingled  with  Nature's  moods  and  seasons. 
It  is  also  in  the  first  person,  and  is  .again  of  Adam 
Moss.  His  own  bereaved  home  and  that  of  the 
birds  furnish  "the  universal  tragedy  of  the  nests." 
Tenderness  and  delicacy  of  expression  are  occa- 
sionally crossed  with  boldness  of  utterance — the 
saying  of  things  that  are  thought  and  are  true, 
but  are  usually  left  unspoken.  Where  this  is  nec- 
essary and  vital,  our  author  may  be  applauded  for 
his  frankness.  That  it  is  not  always  so  is  the 
ground  upon  which  the  severest  attacks  upon  Mr. 
Allen  have  been  made.  Chief  among  Nature's 
mysteries  sex  questions  manifestly  interest  him, 
poetically  and  scientifically.  The  Sylvia  episode 
is  a  foreshadowing  of  what  can  easily  become 
butterflies  fluttering  in  "Summer  in  Arcady." 

There  is  still  the  influence  of  Auduboii  and 
Thoreau,  as  well  as  of  Alexander  Wilson,  the 


JAMES   LANE   ALLEN.  2r,l 

ornithologist,  that  of  Audubon  always  being 
transcendent.  A  characteristic  fling  at  the  an- 
cestors of  Kentuckians,  the  Virginians,  is  not 
missing.  There  is  a  hint  at  the  Bourbon  pride 
in  a  particularly  favored  section  of  Kentucky  at 
the  expense  of  others,  emphasized  with  a  differ- 
ence in  John  Fox's  'The  Kentuckians"  and  by  the 
civil  disorders  of  1899  and  1900.  There  is  Ken- 
tucky's boast  of  both  Henry  Clay  and  Abraham 
Lincoln.  There  was  a  happy  reference  to  Mr. 
Clay  in  "King  Solomon,"  and  in  the  stress  of  this 
winter  in  the  early  fifties  is  recalled  the  death  of 
the  great  Commoner.  More  than  one  touch  of 
local  history  is  brought  in,  not  always  to  the  com- 
fort of  the  non- Kentucky  reader.  One  of  these 
more  or  less  obscure  references  is  the  shooting  of 
a  Kentucky  justice  by  Miss  Delia  Webster.  The 
Kentucky  feuds  and  quarrels  are  frankly  laughed 
at  in  a  paragraph  of  humorous  satire,  which  closes 
with  truer  and  more  exalted  ideals  of  chivalry  and 
honor.  True  to  the  early  fifties,  the  spirit  of  the 
Mexican  War  is  used  as  the  historical  setting. 
Georgiana's  father  was  killed  in  that  struggle. 
There  are  present,  too,  the  consciousness  of  Ken- 
tucky's part  in  developing  national  life,  in  the 
"Winning  of  the  West,"  as  the  phrase  is  here,  and 
the  Kentucky  ideals  of  moral  and  physical  brav- 


2O2  JAMES    LANE.  ALLEN. 

ery — ideals  to  receive  an  added  meaning  later  in 
"The  Choir  Invisible." 

v. 

"Summer  in  Arcady"  is  the  later  and  more 
poetical  name  for  what  appeared  in  the  numbers 
of  the  Cosmopolitan  in  the  winter  of  1895-96  as 
"Butterflies :  A  Tale  of  Nature."  This  story 
marks  the  most  distinct  turning  point  in  Mr.  Al- 
len's work.  In  its  new  objective  method  O'f  treat- 
ment, that  of  detachment  of  the  object  for  pur- 
poses of  study  and  reflection,  it  is  the  logical  fore- 
runner of  his  latest  tale,  which,  by  a  similar 
chance,  has  had  two  titles,  one  in  America  and  the 
second  in  England:  "The  Reign  of  Law"  and 
"The  Increasing  Purpose."  As  the  title  indicates, 
"Butterflies/'  or  "Summer  in  Arcady,"  is  the 
more  idyllic  of  the  two  productions,  and  besides 
possesses  a  sense  of  the  satirical  that  connects  it 
with  "Aftermath." 

"Summer  in  Afcady"  is  a  story  of  inheritance, 
of  Nature's  gifts  and  Nature's  mysterious  work- 
ings. "The  Reign  of  Law"  is  more  that  of  en- 
vironment, the  influence  of  a  new  era  of  thought 
awakening  every  mind  at  the  close  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  and  calling  a  challenge  to  old 
forms  of  belief.  Both  show  Mr.  Allen's  paths 
leading  him  along  the  ways  of  scientific  thought. 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEX. 

Both  heroes  are  in  rebellion  to  old  and  worn-out 
phases  of  thought  and  attitudes  in  life ;  both  are 
"expelled  from  Church;"  both  suffer  and  gain 
control  and  mastery  in  some  measure  over  self. 
\Yith  both  it  is  the  struggle  of  spiritual  with  ma- 
terial forces.  In  the  two  tales  immediately  pre- 
ceding Mr.  Allen  worshiped  Nature  subjectively, 
more  like  a  poet  of  Wordsworth's  school.  In  his 
later  work,  beginning  with  the  "  Summer  in  Ar- 
cady,"  the  poet  still  feels  Nature,  but  the  reason- 
ing mind  is  now  objective  and  holds  calmly  aloof 
as  it  studies  the  workings  of  Nature,  where  man 
is  but  one  of  its  creatures  and  often  its  cruel 
sport.  The  great  difference,  though,  with  traces 
before,  is  at  once  discernible.  It  is  the  turning 
of  the  romanticist  into  scientific  and  realistic  hab- 
its of  thought. 

For  this  reason  the  older  title  of  "Butterflies," 
with  its  sub-title,  "A  Tale  of  Nature,"  is  more  in- 
dicative of  the  author's  attitude  than  the  later 
one.  As  "a  tale  of  Nature"  it  is  the  reign  of 
Nature's  universal  and  all-powerful  law  in  our- 
selves as  in  all  animal  and  physical  creation,  care- 
fully noted  and  studied.  This  work  deals  more 
with  the  physical  forces  of  Nature.  In  the  au- 
thor's latest  book,  where  the  consciousness  of  this 
reign  is  asserted  in  the  title,  the  subject  is  almost 


204  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

entirely  transported  to  the  intellectual  and  spir- 
itual spheres.  In  "Summer  in  Arcady"  man  is 
again  and  again  compared  with  the  "butterflies," 
and,  as  with  butterflies,  Nature  is  strong  and  the 
creature  seems  weak,  whirled  about  by  elemental 
forces,  all  powerful  alike  for  beneficence  and 
harm. 

The  hot  summer's  day  is  typical  of  the  setting, 
the  burning  passion  of  Nature  on  all  sides.  "Na- 
ture is  lashing  everything — grass,  fruit,  insects, 
cattle,  human  creatures — more  fiercely  onward  to 
the  fulfillment  of  her  ends.  She  is  the  great, 
heartless  haymaker,  wasting  not  a  ray  of  sunshine 
on  a  clod,  but  caring  naught  for  the  light  that 
beats  upon  a  throne,  and  holding  man  and  wom- 
an, with  their  longing  for  immortality  and  their 
capacities  for  joy  and  pain,  as  of  no  more  account 
than  a  couple  of  fertilizing  nasturtiums."  And 
the  story  is  of  the  full  summer  tide  also  in  its 
climax.  "A  pair  of  butterflies  out  of  their  count- 
less kind  had  met  on  the  meadows  of  life  and, 
forgetting  all  others,  were  beginning  to  cling. 
The  time  was  not  far  off  when  Nature  would  de- 
mand her  crisis — that  ever-old,  ever-new  miracle 
of  the  dust  through  which  the  perishable  becomes 
the  enduring  and  the  individual  of  a  moment  re- 
news itself  into  a  type  for  ages. 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  205 

''The  crisis  came  on  in  beauty.  The  noon  of 
summer  now  was  nigh.  Each  day  the  great, 
tawny  sun  became  a  more  fierce  and  maddening 
lover  of  the  earth,  and  flushed  her  more  deeply, 
and  awoke  in  her  throes  of  responsive  energy  un- 
til the  whole  land  seemed  to  burn  with  color  and 
to  faint  in  its  own  sweetness. 

"And  this  high  aerial  miracle  of  two  floating 
spheres  that  swept  all  life  along  in  the  flow  of  its 
tide  caught  the  boy  as  a  running  sea  catches  a 
weed." 

But  added  to  this  underlying  note  of  the 
study  of  the  elemental  forces  in  Nature  is  an 
emphasis  on  heredity — what  each  of  this  pair  of 
human  butterflies  inherited  from  several  genera- 
tions past  in  the  same  environment  of  Nature's 
warmth  and  color.  It  is  emphasized  with  almost 
unnecessary  recurrence  that  neither  is  the  highest 
type  of  manhood  and  of  womanhood,  but  a  fre- 
quent and  an  ordinary  type,  a  natural  species. 
For  her:  "If  Daphne  had  but  known,  hidden 
away  on  one  of  those  yellow  sheets  [filed  as  rec- 
ords of  the  runaway  marriages]  were  the  names 
of  her  own  father  and  mother."  For  him:  "Na- 
ture had  never  made  him  of  the  highest  or  for 
the  highest,  and  he  had  already  fallen  a  good  deal 
lower  than  he  was  made  ;  but  of  late  the  linking 


206  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

of  his  life  to  a  pure  one,  in  duty  and  in  desire, 
had  helped  him  in  his  struggle  to  do  what  was 
right.  The  recollection  of  the  scene  of  to-day 
touched  him  most  deeply,  and  perhaps  during 
these  moments  he  realized  as  far  as  was  possible 
to  him  now  that  the  happiness  of  a  man's  life  lies 
and  must  always  lie  where  a  woman's  lies. 

"But  on  the  shifting  sands  of  a  false  past,  and 
with  hands  little  fitted  for  the  work,  he  was  mak- 
ing his  first  sincere  but  blundering  effort  to  rear 
a  barrier  of  a  moral  resistance  as  the  safeguard  of 
two  lives.  And  far  out  on  the  deeps  of  life  Na- 
ture, like  a  great  burying  wave,  was  rolling  shore- 
ward toward  him." 

" Summer  in  Arcady"  is  thus  a  story  of  the  eter- 
nal mystery  of  sex  attraction — of  the  primary 
forces  and  passions  stirring  in  man,  but  becoming 
controlled  and  guided  nevertheless  by  some  phys- 
ical restraint  toward  higher  purposes.  This, 
therefore,  ought  to  be  the  complete  answer  to 
those  who  find  in  the  book  only  frank  revelations 
of  "natural,"  and  therefore  depraved,  tendencies, 
and  hold  up  their  hands  in  consternation  and  hor- 
ror. Such  an  attitude  seems  a  perversion  and  a 
blindness  to  artistic  and  real  truth.  There  may  be 
a  question  how  far  the  results  of  such  study  and 
dissection  should  be  given  to  the  public  generally 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  207 

in  novel  form ;  but  that  the  author  is  doing  so  in 
a  sincere  and  candid  spirit,  as  a  scientific  mind 
would  become  interested  in  any  phenomenon  of 
the  natural  world,  is  also  undoubted.  He  is  pre- 
senting a  portrait,  because  it  can  be  true,  in  the 
name  of  Truth.  Nature's  world  lies  before  him, 
and  her  laws  he  is  scrutinizing  closely.  He  seems 
to  say :  "Here  is  a  phase  worth  noting — observe." 
To  declare  that  such  a  case  has  not  occurred  and 
cannot  easily  occur  in  Kentucky  and  elsewhere 
would  be  to  declare  that  Kentuckians  and  others 
escape  the  force  of  Nature's  compelling  laws. 
Here  are  two  of  Nature's  creatures,  two  of  Na- 
ture's children,  with  ancestors  rooted  in  a  past 
amid  influences  identical  with  the  present,  and 
thus  they  act. 

But  the  author  does  not  forget  the  spiritual,  as 
also  true  of  life.  "Nature  had  been  having  her  way 
with  him  as  an  animal  during  these  days  of  wait- 
ing; but  something  else  had  begun  to  have  its 
way  also — something  that  we  satisfy  ourselves  by 
calling  not  earthly  and  of  the  body,  but  unearthly 
and  of  the  soul — something  that  is  not  pursuit 
and  enjoyment  of  another,  but  self-sacrifice  for 
another's  sake  that  does  not  bring  satiety  but 
ever-growing  dearness  onward  through  youth, 
and  joy  into  old  age  and  sorrow — that  remains 


2o8  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

faithful  when  one  of  two  sits  warm  in  the  sun 
and  the  other  lies  cold  in  the  shadow — that  burns 
on  and  on  as  a  faithful,  lonely  flame  in  a  worn- 
out,  broken  lamp,  and  that  asks,  as  its  utmost  de- 
sire, for  a  life  throughout  eternity,  spirit  with 
spirit." 

The  story,  in  its  unconventionally  and  its  es- 
sential truth,  is  the  u Romeo  and  Juliet"  of  Ken- 
tucky and  Southern  life.  Like  Juliet,  a  child,  a 
girl  of  but  seventeen,  Daphne  is  transformed  into 
the  woman ;  and  in  the  process  there  are  the  same 
forbidden  meetings  and  doubt  and  agonizing  and 
rapture,  and  there  might  have  been  death  and 
tragedy  too.  But  Mr.  Allen  follows  Kentucky 
and  Southern  life.  These  unconventional  dramas, 
if  they  run  on,  usually  end  in  runaway  matches, 
— the  fierce,  consuming  forces  of  Nature  are  con- 
served and  inherited  again  in  the  children,  as  they 
received  the  same  impulses  from  their  parents. 
Like  Romeo,  Hilary,  the  youth  of  twenty,  from 
following  random  loves  at  will,  is  taught  the 
truth  of  his  own  heart  by  the  growing  assertion 
of  a  better  self.  She  was  doing  just  what  her 
mother  did  before  her;  he  was  the  product  of  a 
long  line  of  careless  English,  Virginian,  and 
Kentuckian  inheritance  in  a  final  special  environ- 
ment. And  Nature  holds  her  course,  while  at 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  209 

the  same  time  there  must  be  struggling  with  the 
spiritual  self. 

These  natural  passions  are  terrible  matters  in 
actual  life,  and  to  most  people  to  speak  of  them 
at  all  and  to  dwell  upon  them  is  to  encourage 
them.  It  is  touching  the  unclean  thing,  and  this 
is  their  judgment.  And  thus  the  book  is  not  un- 
derstood, and  is  necessarily  distorted.  One  must, 
perhaps,  have  attained  to  the  scientific  habit  and 
philosophical  attitude  of  practical  observation  cor- 
rectly to  understand  and  sympathize  with  the  per- 
fect intensity  and  realism  of  the  picture.  To  say 
it  is  not  Kentuckian  or  American,  or  of  the  world, 
is  just  as  impossible.  We  see  the  same  picture 
about  us  every  recurring  summer,  as  youth  is  at- 
tracted to  youth.  The  romanticist  and  the  poet 
have  their  way  of  putting  it;  the  frankly  intel- 
lectual mind  sees  in  it  the  working  of  fundamental 
forces  of  Nature,  which  are  yet  directed  by  the 
novelist  to  provident  purposes.  That  which  per- 
haps gave  the  greatest  shock  of  displeasure  was 
the  intense  naturalness  of  the  concluding  chapter 
as  it  originally  appeared,  the  subtle  suggestion  of 
the  complexity  of  a  woman's  feelings  who  is 
trusting  herself  in  a  new  relation  to  a  man  of  this 
nature  and  is  stepping  fearfully  and  timidly,  yet 
resolvedly,  into  the  great  unknown  which  the  fu- 


210  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

ture  contains.    It  is  the  very  truth  that  offends,  if 
it  offends  at  all. 

For  this  reason  the  Preface  written  for  the  edi- 
tion in  book  form,  after  the  storm  which  greeted 
the  first  appearance,  was  unnecessary.  It  was  in 
the  nature  of  an  apology  for  an  art  which  needed 
no  apology.  The  book  must  speak  for  itself,  and 
must  ultimately  carry  its  own  fate,  and  no  apol- 
ogy or  interpretation  can  help  it  or  explain  it 
away.  The  purpose  of  the  story  is  an  artistic  one. 
the  truthful  representation  in  literary  form  of  a 
page  from  life.  The  Preface  was  too  far  moral- 
izing, the  note  was  too  far  explanatory,  and  art 
must  never  become  didactic  and  bend  to  explain, 
but  stand  self-confessed.  Together  with  the 
Preface,  there  are  certain  shadings  and  soften- 
ings discoverable  in  the  later  form,  springing 
from  the  same  sensitiveness,  that  are  not  always 
gains.  In  the  conclusion  two  pages  are  inserted, 
repeating  explicitly  and  didactically  what  has  al- 
ready been  suggested  delicately,  and  thereby 
weakening  the  effect.  It  was  known  before  that 
Hilary  was  not  the  highest  type  of  man,  and  the 
changes  in  him  had  been  subtly  presented.  The 
tale  was  conceived  as  a  story  of  Nature  and  nat- 
ural forces,  and  should  have  been  left  so,  after 
once  being  written,  even  in  the  face  of  a  shocked 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  211 

public  sentiment  and  opposing  criticism.  The 
slight  changes  have  obscured  the  original  height- 
ened impression,  an  impression  bolder,  more 
clearly  defined,  and  more  vital  in  its  first  concep- 
tion as  "Butterflies." 

It  is  a  story  of  what  has  happened  and  is  hap- 
pening in  our  American  life.  That  it  may  contain 
a  moral,  a  lesson,  follows  from  itself  as  all  occur- 
rences in  life  have  lessons ;  but  the  lesson  need 
not  too  obviously  obtrude.  The  Preface  and  con- 
sequent changes  were  a  yielding  to  demands  for 
an  explanation,  a  result  of  a  certain  sensitiveness 
to  criticism.  The  story  will  stand  as  essentially, 
if  not  generally,  true  long  after  the  necessity  for 
the  Preface  has  disappeared.1 

VI. 

"The  Choir  Invisible; '  which  follows,  is  in  one 
sense  out  of  its  natural  order  in  this  thought 
evolution.  But  not  so  in  art.  It  can  be  better  un- 
derstood if  it  be  remembered  that  it  is  an  old 
story  of  Mr.  Allen's,  "Jonn  Gray,"  which  had 
appeared  originally  in  Lippincott's  Magazine  in 
1893,  built  upon  and  altered  and  enlarged.  It  is, 
therefore,  not  so  much  the  fundamental  concep- 

*Mr.  Allen  has  omitted  the  Preface  in  his  latest  (Mac- 
millan)  edition,  the  writer  has  learned. 


212  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

tion  of  the  story,  which  admittedly  belongs  to  an 
earlier  period,  as  the  alterations  and  changes  in 
attitude  that  indicate  Mr.  Allen's  growth  in 
artistic  power. 

Here  it  is  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  Kentucky 
which  has  hold  of  him.  The  love  story  itself,  the 
chief  thing  which  the  original  "John  Gray"  be- 
queathed to  the  new  form,  has  been  made  more 
delicate  and  more  human,  though  there  again  are 
those  who  complain  of  a  departure  from  its  orig- 
inal sweetness.  Such  a  departure  was  necessary 
in  the  growing  strength  of  the  conception.  The 
gain  in  subtlety  is  a  sign  of  this  change.  But  par- 
ticularly pervading  is  the  consciousness  of  his- 
toric evolution  which  has  made  Kentucky  what 
she  has  been  and  is  at  her  best.  There  are  the 
feelings  of  more  than  a  century's  past  and 
growth ;  the  thought  of  Kentucky's  lonely  stand 
on  the  borderland  of  the  great  Western  wilder- 
ness ;  the  recognition  that  after  the  original  thir- 
teen colonies  the  first  new  territory  and  new  State 
to  be  added  to  the  westward  was  Kentucky,  ad- 
mitted to  the  Union  in  1792;  the  emphasis  that 
the  Anglo-Saxon  pioneer  had  pushed  his  way 
through  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  Allegha- 
nies  and  was  destined  to  occupy  the  great  Missis- 
sippi basin,  and  thence  pass  from  ocean  to  ocean  ; 


JAMES    LANE   ALLKX.  213 

and  that  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  movement 
for  expansion  and  for  nationality.  The  additions 
to  "John  Gray"  are  chiefly  in  expression  of  this 
historical  spirit  and  in  subtilizing  the  characters 
of  the  story. 

Mr.  Allen's  growing  strength  is  seen  by  anoth- 
er circumstance.  It  is  the  author's  first  long  story 
or  complete  novel.  The  contrast  can  be  seen  from 
the  Table  of  Contents,  where  the  ten  chapters 
of  "John  Gray"  with  titles  have  grown  in  "The 
Choir  Invisible"  into  twenty-three  without.  The 
volume  also  appeared  in  the  year  1897,  the  year 
of  Dr.  Mitchell's  "Hugh  Wynne,"  and  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  revival  of  the  novel  with  historic 
setting  in  American  fiction.  Thus  in  a  sense  it 
might  be  considered  as  an  anticipation.  But  Mr. 
Allen's  work  was  far  more  than  a  mere  historical 
novel,  and  was  not  at  all  a  tale  of  adventure. 
There  is  not  an  adventure  in  it  except  the  newly 
inserted  struggle  with  the  panther,  "a  clear  con- 
test between  will  and  will,  courage  and  courage, 
strength  and  strength,  the  love  of  prey  and  the 
love  of  life."  But  this  is  brought  in  not  merely 
for  itself,  but  to  portray  more  faithfully  the  actual 
dangers  of  pioneer  days  and  to  help  forward  the 
development  of  the  story,  the  gradual  revelation 
of  character  and  self-knowledge.  It  is  a  soul 


314  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

study  and  conflict,  or  rather  that  of  two  souls,  in 
a  faithfully  presented  historical  environment.  It 
is  as  if  the  author  would  say:  There  were  high 
and  noble  souls  then  in  the  laying  of  Kentucky's 
foundations,  and  high  and  noble  generations  have 
sprung  from  them.  From  a  local  picture  the 
story  passes  into  general  significance. 

There  are  corresponding  changes  in  art  form 
that  make  the  new  volume  more  subdued  or 
heightened  in  color  effect  as  is  required,  more 
delicate  and  precise  in  expression.  Let  one  or 
two  instances,  taken  from  the  very  first  page,  suf- 
fice. "The  warming  bosom  of  the  earth"  was  be- 
fore warm;  "the  gleaming,  wandering  Alps  of 
the  blue  ether"  stood  originally  "those  dear  Alps 
of  the  blue  air."  Adjectives  abounding  in  "John 
Gray"  become  omitted  altogether  or  altered,  for 
the  sake  of  strengthening,  as  in  "the  hope  of 
[vast]  maternity,"  or  better  still  as  seen  in  the 
changes  indicated  in  the  following:  "The  [pure 
heavenly]  spirit  of  scentless  spring,  left  by  [born 
of]  melting  snows  and  the  [pure  earthy]  spirit 
of  scented  [odorous]  summer,  born  with  the  ear- 
liest buds  [of  the  hearts  of  flowers]."  To  con- 
tinue the  comparison  is  unnecessary. 

But  while  there  are  softenings  in  tone  and  in 
the  shadows  and  lights  of  style,  the  real  changes 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  215 

arc  spiritual,  alterations  and  additions  for  a  more 
subtly  psychological  presentation.  In  the  first 
form  we  already  had  the  nobly  eloquent  tribute  to 
the  backwoods  "schoolhouse,"  though  the  later 
version  has  added  to  even  as  fine  a  piece  of  rhet- 
oric as  this:  "Poor  old  schoolhouse,  long  since 
become  scattered  ashes!  Poor  little  backwoods 
academicians,  driven  in  about  sunrise,  driven  out 
toward  dusk !  Poor  little  tired  backs  with  noth- 
ing to  lean  against !  Poor  little  bare  feet  that 
could  never  reach  the  floor!  Poor  little  droop- 
headed  figures,  so  sleepy  in  the  long  summer  days, 
so  afraid  to  fall  asleep !  Long,  long  since,  little 
children  of  the  past,  your  backs  have  become 
straight  enough  measured  on  the  same  [a]  cool 
bed;  sooner  or  later  your  [bare]  feet,  wherever 
wandering,  have  found  their  resting  places  in 
[come  to  rest  on]  the  soft  earth;  and  all  your 
drooping  heads  have  gone  to  sleep  on  [found] 
the  same  dreamless  pillow  [to  sleep  on]  and  there 
[still]  are  sleeping." 

Here  in  the  new  version  the  phrase  "the  choir 
invisible"  is  first  inserted,  taken  from  George 
Eliot's  poem  of  aspiration  : 

O  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible 

Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again ! 

The  paragraph  originally  ended   with  the  next 


2l6 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 


sentence :  "And  the  imperious  schoolmaster,  too, 
who  seemed  exempt  from  physical  frailty,  the 
young  scholar  who  guarded  as  a  stern  sentinel 
that  lonely  outpost  of  the  imperiled  alphabet- 
even  he  long  ago  laid  himself  down  on  the  same 
mortal  level  with  you  as  a  common  brother." 
This  has  been  chastened  into:  "And  the  young 
schoolmaster,  who  seemed  exempt  from  frailty 
while  he  guarded  like  a  sentinel  that  lone  outpost 
of  the  alphabet,  he  too  has  long  since  joined  the 
choir  invisible  of  the  immortal  dead."  All  the 
rest  is  added :  "But  there  is  something  left  of  him 
though  more  than  a  century  has  passed  away, 
something  that  has  wandered  far  down  the  course 
of  time  to  us  like  the  faint  summer  fragrance  of 
a  young  tree  long  since  fallen  dead  in  its  wintered 
forest,  like  a  dim  radiance  yet  traveling  onward 
into  space  from  an  orb  turned  black  and  cold,  like 
an  old  melody  surviving  on  and  on  in  the  air 
without  any  instrument,  without  any  strings." 
So  great  hold  upon  the  writer  have  these  mem- 
ories of  the  past ! 

There  are  effective  condensations  as  well  as 
expansions :  "He  failed  to  urge  his  way  through 
the  throng  as  speedily  as  he  may  have  expected, 
being  withheld  at  moments  by  passing  acquaint- 
ances, and  at  others  pausing  of  his  own  choice  to 


JAMES    LAXE   ALLEN.  217 

watch  some  spectacle  of  the  street."  This  is  a 
concise  summary  of  a  much  looser  statement  of 
numberless  details  in  an  enumeration  of  persons 
who  were  typical  characters :  a  parent,  some 
ladies,  the  shoemaker,  the  bookseller.  Instead  of 
these  slight,  gossipy  matters,,  the  more  earnest 
spirit  of  the  new  story  demands  a  long  descrip- 
tion in  many  pages  of  the  feelings  and  conditions 
of  Revolutionary  Kentucky.  This  setting  of  the 
past  obtains  the  emphasis  befitting  a  tale  placed 
on  a  vaster  staging,  a  portrayal  of  the  rugged 
earnestness  and  continual  danger  of  the  lives  cast 
in  that  wilderness.  Slight  local  touches  disap- 
pear, like  "where  the  Federal  fort  stood  during 
the  Civil  War."  The  significance  of  the  later 
struggle  to  a  later  generation  is  lost  in  the  epic 
isolation  of  the  Revolutionary  theme.  So  in  other 
places  the  descriptions  of  the  wilderness,  the  In- 
dians, the  schoolhouse,  the  hunting  of  game,  the 
fight  with  the  panther  are  all  new  and  added  as 
necessary  to  the  atmosphere  of  the  later  work, 
though  some  have  objected  to  these  additions  as 
extraneous. 

The  descriptions  grow  under  the  author's  pen. 
On  the  first  pages  is  one  of  the  Kentucky  wood- 
land. Also  the  seriously  reflective  and  moralizing 
vein  grows  too — reflections  on  the  history  of  the 


2l8  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

State  and  nation  and  its  significance — all  evoked 
imaginatively.  Sensitiveness  to  Nature  and  her 
appearances  and  interest  in  all  animal  life  still 
predominate :  "The  sun  had  set.  Night  was 
rushing  on  over  the  awful  land.  The  wolf-dog, 
in  his  kennel  behind  the  house,  rose,  shook  him- 
self at  his  chain,  and  uttered  a  long  howl  that 
reached  away  to  the  dark  woods,  the  darker  for 
the  vast  pulsing  yellow  light  that  waved  behind 
them  in  the  west  like  a  gorgeous  soft  aerial  fan. 
As  the  echoes  died  out,  from  the  peach  prchard 
came  the  song  of  a  robin,  calling  for  love  and 
rest." 

Many  are  the  pictures  of  pioneer  days  in  Ken- 
tucky, all  tending  to  idyllic  effects,  as  nearness  to 
Nature  is  always  idyllic :  the  pioneer  girl,  the 
school  children  and  their  sports,  the  barring  out 
at  the  schoolhouse  like  a  miniature  Indian  attack, 
the  celebration  of  the  anniversary  of  the  battle 
of  the  Blue  Licks.  The  transmitted  Kentuckian's 
ideals  of  personal  courage  and  honor  again  be- 
come the  theme  as  in  "Aftermath,"  and  the  epi- 
sode of  the  printing  office  is  altered  and  enlarged 
to  accord  with  the  higher  tragic  pitch.  There  are 
many  other  matters  touched  upon  besides:  the 
ownership  of  lands  and  land  titles,  the  early 
printing  press  and  bookbinding  establishment  of 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  219 

Mr.  John  Bradford,  the  dress  of  the  beau  ui  that 
period,  the  circumstances  of  the  wedding  with  its 
distant  ride  to  the  church,  the  patriotism  and 
plans  and  anxieties  for  the  youthful  national  gov- 
ernment, the  Jacobin  clubs,  the  personal  influence 
of  Washington,  and  the  general  spirit  of  revolu- 
tion and  independence.  There  is  the  tribute  to 
the  beauty  of  Kentucky  women — but  the  whole 
story  is  that — and  a  forecast  of  the  beauty  of  the 
breed  of  Kentucky  horses ! 

The  sympathetic  parson,  the  Rev.  James  Moore, 
is  the  same  personage  as  in  "Flute  and  Violin," 
only  with  the  vitality  of  twenty  years  younger. 
His  is  one  of  the  best  minor  figures  in  the  new 
book  with  his  playing  on  his  flute — "perhaps  it 
was  a  way  he  had  of  calling  in  the  divided  flock 
of  his  faculties" — his  regard  for  Paley's  "Evi- 
dences," his  love  of  music  and  the  ancient  classics 
which  went  together,  and  his  satirizing  of  women. 
That  the  Widow  Babcock  should  even  be  men- 
tioned at  this  time  is  unkind  to  her  age  and  many 
amiable  qualities  in  the  former  story.  Even  the 
history  of  the  Rev.  James  himself  is  wrapped  in 
some  haziness,  for  it  is  hinted  that  he  afterwards 
was  married  to  one  who  revenged  her  sex  fully 
for  his  many  ungallant  remarks.  Yet  in  "Flute 
and  Violin"  he  is  advanced  distinctly  into  the  fate 


220  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

of  bachelordom.  His  own  description  of  an  old 
maid,  in  his  frank  talks  with  John  Gray,  might  in 
the  other  portrayal  have  stood  for  him :  "I  even 
know  another  old  maid  now  who  is  nothing  but 
an  old  music  book,  long  ago  sung  through,  learned 
by  heart,  and  laid  aside ;  in  a  faded,  wrinkled  bind- 
ing, yellowed  paper  stained  by  tears — and  haunt- 
ed by  an  odor  of  rose  petals,  crushed  between  the 
•leaves  of  memory ;  a  genuine  very  thin  and  stiff 
collection  of  the  rarest  original  songs — not  songs 
without  words,  but  songs  without  sounds — the 
ballads  of  an  undiscovered  heart,  the  hymns  of  an 
unanswered  spirit/'  Often  the  conversation  be- 
tween the  two  men  grows  so  warm  that  it  par- 
takes of  the  nature  of  stichomythia,  the  give 
and  take  in  quick  reply,  to  indicate  the  dramatic 
interest. 

There  are  many  suggestions  of  spiritual  kin- 
ship between  Mr.  Allen's  own  nature  and  John 
Gray's,  as  there  were  unconscious  points^  of  like- 
ness to  himself,  through  the  ideals  expressed,  in 
Helm  Gordon  in  "Sister  Dolorosa"  and  Adam 
Moss  in  the  "Cardinal."  This  analogy  extends 
even  to  some  externals:  Mr.  Allen  had  on  one 
side  the  same  Scotch-Irish  ancestry,  had  taught 
school  in  the  Kentucky  countryside  before  his 
removal  East,  had  known  the  pressure  of  indebt- 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN.  221 

edness  here  hinted  at  and  the  working  under  high 
resolves. 

In  its  original  the  story  was  merely  one  of  un- 
requited love,  a  true  man's  love  for  a 'lighter  na- 
ture incapable  of  fully  entering  into  and  being 
made  happy  by  the  depths  of  his  character,  and 
the  man's  battle  with  self  until  he  rose  on  the  step- 
ping-stones of  his  disappointment  to  better  things. 
In  the  early  volume  Amy  was-  all,  and  Mrs. 
Falconer,  her  aunt,  only  a  lay  figure.  But  the 
contrast  between  the  two  women  is  the  central 
thought  of  the  new  volume,  and  the  plot  of  the 
old  story  serves  merely  as  an  introduction  to  the 
new.  In  the  deeper  psychological  spirit  of  the 
new  setting  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  movement 
centers  around  Mrs.  Falconer.  The  direct  influ- 
ence of  her  personality  and  the  indirect  influence 
of  the  great  book  she  lends  to  John  Gray  (Sir 
Thomas  Malory's  narrative  of  the  conquest  of 
others  and  of  self  by  King  Arthur  and  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table)  become  the  great 
motive  powers  in  building  up  his  character  and 
life.  It  is  thus  an  entirely  new  work  that  we 
have,  a  book  entering  upon  a  wider  world  and 
passing  into  larger  reaches  of  art  and  life.  There 
is  a  nicer  and  finer  sens'e  of  delicacy.  Amy  an- 
nounces to.  Airs.  Falconer  in  the  garden  her  en- 


222  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

gagement,  and  tells  of  John's  struggle  with  the 
panther.  The  wound  from  the  panther  both  con- 
ceals and  emphasizes  the  infliction  of  the  deeper 
spiritual  wound.  The  parson's  visit  to  John  is  re- 
fined and  the  historical  undertone  deepened  and 
strengthened.  Mrs.  Falconer  brings  the  patient 
the  Book,  and  henceforth  the  principles  of  the 
Book  take  the  place  of  the  hitherto  omnipresent 
historic  .feeling.  The  pastor's  sermon  and  the 
teacher's  address  on  the  last  day  at"  school  grow 
more  earnest.  Even  more  significant  are  the 
changes  at  the  end.  In  "John  Gray"  there  is 
feeling,  but  no  love.  John  is  married  before 
Maj.  Falconer's  death,  and  the  youth  comes  as 
a  joy  to  a  woman's  old  age.  In  the  new  version 
Maj.  Falconer  dies,  Mrs.  Falconer  waits,  and 
John  writes — her  feelings  are  not  given,  but  it  is 
the  tragedy  of  life !  The  characteristic  change  of 
note  is  felt  in  the  dedication.  It  was  "To  Her  and 
Her  Memory;"  it  is  now  "To  My  Mother," 
whose  gentle,  inspiring  personality  could  well 
have  been  the  prototype  of  Mrs.  Falconer. 

The  two  women  change  gradually  and  imper- 
ceptibly, but  decidedly,  with  every  bringing  to- 
gether. "The  one  was  nineteen,  the  tulip,  with 
springlike  charm  but  perfectly  hollow  and  ready 
to  be  filled  by  east  wind  or  west  wind,  north  wind 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  223 

or  south  wind,  according  as  each  blew  last  and 
hardest;  the  other  thirty-six,  the  rose,  in  its  mid- 
summer splendor,  with  fold  upon  fold  of  delicate 
symmetric  structures,  making  a  masterpiece." 
After  Mrs.  Falconer's  visit  to  John,  wounded  both 
in  body  and  in  spirit,  the  first  ray  of  difference 
dawns:  "What  a  mother  she  would  have  been!" 
and  later,  "What  a  wife  she  is!"  and  after  she 
has  gone,  "W7hat  a  woman !'' 

Then  enters  the  Book  of  Ideals  into  the  story : 
"She  had  said  he  should  have  read  this  book  long 
before,  but  that  henceforth  he  would  always  need 
it  even  more  than  in  his  past :  that  here  were 
some  things  he  had  looked  for  in  the  world  and 
had  never  found;  characters  such  as  he  had  al- 
ways wished  to  grapple  to  himself  as  his  abid- 
ing comrades;  that  if  he  would  love  the  best 
that  it  loved,  hate  what  it  hated,  scorn  what  it 
scorned,  it  would  help  him  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
own  ideals  to  the  end."  These  ideals  were: 
"Men  who  were  men,  .  .  .  men  who  were 
gentlemen,  and  .  .  .  gentlemen  who  served 
the  unfallen  life  of  the  spirit."  Their  conversa- 
tion, always  rather  prone  to  become  too  serious 
with  Mr.  Allen,  is  of  the  Greeks,  Romans,  and 
Jews.  There  is  not  a  word  of  Amy.  John's  mind 
is  imperceptibly  led  into  and  rests  in  other  chan- 


224  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

nels.  But  the  wound  breaks  out  afresh  in  Amy's 
mischievous  interview  with  them  after  John  is 
well  enough  to  come  again  to  the  garden,  which, 
rather  than  the  house,  seems  the  natural  out-of- 
door  home  for  both  tulip  and  rose.  The  tulip 
has  already  lost  one  of  its  petals :  "Some  women 
begin  to  let  themselves  go  after  marriage ;  some 
after  the  promise  of  marriage."  The  knowledge 
of  her  engagement  to  Joseph,  only  now  learned 
by  John  from  her  own  lips,  reveals  to  him  all  the 
shallowness  of  her  nature. 

In  John's  farewell  with  Mrs.  Falconer  the  wom- 
an's unconsciousness  saves  her ;  she  still  supposes 
the  wound  is  fresh  for  Amy.  "Ah,  you  don't  be- 
gin to  realize  how  much  you  are  to  me!"  is  his 
cry.  "O  !"  comes  the  response,  and  later,  "I  don't 
understand."  Not  all  is  plain  in  the  delicacy  of 
these  portrayals — perhaps  not  all  can  be  made 
plain,  and  words  and  motives  must  affect  differ- 
ent readers  differently — but  in  the  main  the  por- 
trayal of  the  woman  is  clear.  The  parson  well 
says  of  her :  "She  holds  in  quietness  her  land  of 
the  spirit,  but  there  are  battlefields  in  her  na- 
ture that  fill  me  with  awe  by  their  silence." 

In  some  ways  she  reminds  unconsciously  o*f 
Lady  Esmond  in  Thackeray's  historical  master- 
piece. Her  relations  to  her  husband  are  sug- 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  225 

gested  in  the  slightest  hints ;  they  are  in  little  that 
is  actual,  but  lie  in  the  spiritual  sphere.  But  the 
intimation  is  plain  as  to  the  wearing  of  the  gen- 
tlewoman's life  in  the  wilderness.  As  with  Ga- 
briella  in  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  the  book  of  her 
life  with  its  changing  phases  is  introduced.  It 
is  the  story  of  the  gentlewoman  of  that  day. 
There  is  the  old  Virginia  home,  for  which  she 
always  longs ;  the  memory  of  bright  girlhood  days 
in  Colonial  Virginia  before  the  separation  from 
the  mother  country ;  the  coming  on  of  war ;  the 
political  divisions  which  also  divide  family ;  the 
Revolution  itself ;  the  peace ;  the  marriage  to  an 
army  officer;  the  removal  West  for  the  sake  of 
lands  bestowed  by  a  generous  government  upon 
its  soldiers ;  hardships  in  the  Kerftucky  forest. 
Such  were  the  race  and  schooling  that  had  shaped 
this  character,  a  character  that  had  ripened  and 
beautified  with  the  years. 

In  her  parting  from  John  Gray  she  had  held 
out  to  him  all  the  ideals  of  manhood,  for  in  hav- 
ing put  into  his  hands  the  Book  "out  of  her  own 
purity  she  had  judged  him."  Thus  "it  is  the 
woman  who  bursts  the  whole  grape  of  sorrow 
against  the  irrepressible  palate  at  such  a  mo- 
ment ;  to  a  man  like  him  the  same  grape  distills 
a  vintage  of  yearning  that  will  brim  the  cup  o£ 
15 


226  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

memory  many  a  time  beside  his  lamp  in  the  final 
years/'  As  time  passed,  changes  came  into  her 
life,  and  with  those  changes  her  final  confession 
to  herself  of  "her  love  of  him,  the  belief  that  he 
had  loved  her,"  which  "she,  until  this  night,  had 
never  acknowledged  to  herself."  "I  shall  under- 
stand everything  when  he  comes,"  her  first 
thought,  shadowed  into  "I  shall  go  softly  all  my 
years."  "It  was  into  the  company  of  these  quieter 
pilgrims  that  she  had  passed:  she  had  missed 
happiness  twice."  "It  was  about  this  time  also  that 
there  fell  upon  her  hair  the  earliest  rays  of  that 
light  which  is  the  dawn  of  the  Eternal  Morning." 
At  last  with  the  receding  years  came  young  John, 
and  came  the  letter,  and  with  it  the  revelation 
she  had  known  was  hers:  "If  I  have  kept  un- 
broken faith  with  any  of  mine,  thank  you  and 
thank  God !" 

The  situation  and  the  action  have  been  objected 
to.  Some  have  found  them  even  immoral.  The 
test  of  a  book  is  its  final  impression.  Are  the 
ideals  ennobling  or  debasing?  Do  they  lift  up  or 
drag  down  ?  A  right-minded  man  cannot  but  be 
awed  into  reverence  as  he  feels  the  strugglings 
of  human  nature  carried  through  tenderly  and  yet 
triumphantly,  with  truth  of  circumstance  to  the 
highest  in  self,  It  is  the  humanness  and  the 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  227 

humanity  of  the  story  which  make  the  strongest 
appeal.  Mr.  Allen  is  striving  to  come  nearer  to 
the  divination  of  the  human  soul,  to  apprehend- 
ing man  with  his  conflicts  and  contradictions  and 
his  truth.  Much  of  the  book  is  a  poem  in  prose, 
pulsating  with  the  sense  of  a  nation's  destiny  and 
the  spiritual  testing  of  individual  lives. 

"Men  and  women  could  love  together  seven 
years,  .  .  .  and  then  was  love  truth  and 
faithfulness." 

"In  the  Country  of  the  Spirit  there  is  a  certain 
high  table-Jand  that  lies  far  on  among  the  out- 
posts toward  Eternity.  .  .  .  But  no  man  can 
write  a  description  of  this  place  for  those  who 
have  never  trodden  it ;  by  those  who  have,  no 
description  is  desired :  their  fullest  speech  is  Si- 
lence." 

VII. 

The  two  opening  chapters  of  "The  Reign  of 
Law,"  Mr.  Allen's  latest  work,  possess  the  same 
historic  consciousness  displayed  in  "The  Choir  In- 
visible." There  is  the  underlying  recognition  of 
the  part  the  settlement  of  Kentucky  has  played  in 
the  development  of  the  country  and  the  part  that 
hemp  -has  had  in  Kentucky's  history.  There  is 
also  the  keenest  sense  of  Nature  and  the  expres- 
sion of  her  attributes  as  if  in  a  tumultuous  rush — 


228  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

in  point  of  style,  a  profusion  oi  epithets  cast  down 
often  without  the  necessary  predicate — the  more 
benignant  law  of  the  seasons  and  their  changes 
portrayed  preparatory  to  a  story  wherein  man 
obedient  with  Nature  succumbs  to  the  Reign  of 
Law.  For  "a  round  year  of  the  earth's  changes 
enters  into  the  creation  of  the  hemp."  Far  from 
being  unnecessary,  the  opening  prelude  on  hemp 
is  but  the  overture  to  the  wells  of  passion  follow- 
ing like  the  processes  of  the  tides  and  suns,  the 
strains  of  which  are  constantly  heard  through  the 
entire  piece.  And  there  is  the  same  apparent  con- 
tradiction, yet  twofold  aspect,  of  Nature  in  the 
book — the  poet's  combined  with  the  scientist's,  the 
feminine  correlated  with  the  masculine,  Gabriel- 
la's  at  last  united  with  David's.  Nature  and  Life, 
their  union  and  their  relation — these  are  typified 
by  the  hemp.  "Ah !  type,  too,  of  our  life,  which 
also  is  earth-sown,  earth-rooted ;  which  must 
struggle  upward,  be  cut  down,  rotted  and  broken, 
ere  the  separation  take  place  between  our  dross 
and  our  worth — poor  perishable  shard  and  im- 
mortal fiber.  O  the  mystery,  the  mystery  of  that 
growth  from  the  casting  of  the  soul  as  a  seed  into 
the  dark  earth,  until  the  time  when,  led  through 
all  natural  changes  and  cleansed  of  weakness,  it  is 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  2 29 

borne  from  the  fields  of  its  nativity  for  the  long 
service !" 

We  are  not  done  with  heredity  any  more  than 
in  "Summer  in  Arcady."  The  opening  chapter, 
catching  a  note  from  its  predecessor,  is  on  reli- 
gious toleration,  wideness  of  appeal,  and  open- 
ness to  new  thought ;  and  this  note  is  held  contin- 
uously throughout.  The  hero  is  the  descendant  of 
the  pioneer  who  built  a  church  on  the  edge  of  a 
farm  that  there  might  be  therein  freedom  of  wor- 
ship forever.  Sixty-five  years  later,  when  the 
scientific  and  philosophical  conceptions  of  the 
latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  furthered  by 
Darwin  and  his  followers  had  burst  upon  the 
world,  he,  too,  with  his  stubborn  honesty  and 
pride,  would  have  acted  much  the  same  as  David. 
The  indignant  turning  of  this  progenitor  of 
David's  upon  the  early  congregation  is  of  the 
same  spirit  as,  in  "Summer  in  Arcady,"  the  turn- 
ing of  Hilary  upon  Daphne's  father,  the  elder 
who  had  "expelled  him  from  the  Church/'  Ii 
must  be  remembered  that  Middle  Kentucky  has 
always  been  the  scene  of  peculiarly  fervent  and 
often  violent  religious  excitement  and  alterca- 
tions. 

With  the  two  preludes,  one  of  Nature  and  the 
other  of  History,  the  story  opens  with  the  big, 


23°  TAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

raw-boned  boy  of  eighteen  cutting  hemp  in  1865. 
The  date  was  the  end  of  old  and  the  beginning  of 
new  things  in  Kentucky  and  everywhere  in  the 
Southern  States,  among  many  signs  being  the 
opening  of  the  university  at  Lexington  the  fol- 
lowing autumn.  It  was  the  day  of  revolutions, 
of  new  expansions  and  undertakings,  new  direc- 
tions of  activity  and  thought  in  the  South  specific- 
ally and  in  the  world  generally.  These  two  move- 
ments, the  local  and  the  world-wide,  Mr.  Allen 
seeks  to  bring  together.  "For  some  years  this 
particular  lad,  this  obscure  item  in  Nature's  plan 
which  always  passes  understanding,  had  been 
growing  more  unhappy  in  his  place  in  creation." 
A  certain  birth,  a  farm  and  its  tasks,  a  country 
neighborhood  and  its  narrowness— what  more  are 
these  often  than  the  starting  point  for  a  young 
life  groping  for  the  world  beyond,  of  which  it  is 
as  yet  ignorant  ? 

The  introduction  of  the  university  and  the 
Bible  college  is  again  as  the  outcome  of  a  cen- 
tury of  tradition.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the  time 
and  place  are  both  so  near ;  but  they  are  as  neces- 
sary for  the  author's  story  as  the  breath  for  life. 
The  educational  ideals  expressed  and  hoped  for 
many  have  held  and  none  has  been  able  wholly  to 
achieve ;  a  position  halfway  between  North  and 


JAAIES   LANE  ALLEN.  2$l 

South,  an  institution  of  learning  with  no  politics, 
based  upon  broad  ideas  and  at  the  same  time  re- 
ligious. Ideals  far  short  of  what  has  ever  actual- 
ly been  realized!  It  seems  this  must  be  the  case, 
and  cannot  be  escaped.  The  sensitiveness  to  the 
criticism  is,  therefore,  natural,  but  the  failure  has 
been  unquestionable. 

Heredity  plays  a  part  in  a  second  way.  The 
inexorable  father  never  understands  the  son  so 
much  like  him.  "If  I  had  only  had  a  son  to  have 
been  proud  of !"  he  cries.  "It  isn't  in  him  to  take 
an  education."  This  misunderstanding  while  still 
on  the  same  level  of  life  and  plane  of  thought 
must  become  emphasized  when  the  boy's  enthusi- 
asms and  studies  have  carried  him  quite  beyond 
his  fathers  point  of  view.  The  decision  to  goto 
college  and  to  become  a  preacher  was  the  result 
of  the  lad's  first  awakening,  a  habit  of  resolution 
and  change  already  begun.  That  change  and  the 
innate  honesty  of  his  character  with  the  habit  of 
thinking  for  himself  and  reaching  his  own  con- 
.  elusions,  meant  that  other  changes  were  to  follow 
in  after  years.  Stress  is  laid  on  the  fact  that  he 
"was  nearer  the  first  century  and  yet  earlier  ages 
than  the  nineteenth.  He  knew  more  of  prophets 
and  apostles  than  modern  doctors  of  divinity." 
With  such  premises  there  cannot  escape  being  a 


232  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

case  of  evolution.  Between  old  life  and  anti- 
quated conceptions  and  new  life  and  living  ideas 
there  must  grow  a  schism. 

If  in  "The  White  Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa" 
Mr.  Allen  felt  that  a  rigid  religious  brotherhood 
and  a  secluded  sisterhood  could  trample  on  the 
springs  of  human  nature,  in  David's  case  it  is  the 
excesses  and  bigotry  of  an  extreme  Protestantism 
without  intelligent  sympathy  for  the  boy's  nature 
and  the  human  nature  he  represents  that  provoke 
the  rupture.  His  inherited  traits  are  shown  in 
his  going  to  the  courthouse  in  Lexington  and 
reading  the  deed  of  his  great-grandfather  grant- 
ing a  church  as  free  to  Romanist  as  to  Protestant. 
A  youth  with  such  a  man's  blood  surging  in  his 
veins  could  not  shut  out  new  experiences  and 
new  truths.  He  was  curious  to  see  and  hear  a 
Catholic  priest ;  he  wished  to  visit  a  Jewish  syna- 
gogue ;  he  wanted  to  get  the  point  of  view  of 
Churches  of  every  creed.  The  nature  of  his  mind 
was  one  of  enlargement;  he  could  not  limit  him- 
self to  one  idea  without  further  inquiry.  This, 
tendency  must  have  its  natural  results,  according 
as  directed  or  misdirected. 

The  pastor  of  his  own  Church  preached  "a  se- 
ries of  sermons  on  errors  in  the  faith  and  practice 
of  the  different  Protestant  sects,"  treading  on 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  233 

very  delicate  ground  for  delicate  souls.  The  re- 
sult for  one  of  David's  temper  could  have  been 
foreseen.  The  night  after  the  first  sermon  this 
particular  young  man  had  a  seat  at  that  other 
church  which  had  been  riddled.  It  was  a  rift  in 
the  life  of  the  human  soul  which  ultimately  had 
to  widen  with  his  nature  into  a  great  breach.  The 
case  of  the  Churches  may  be  exaggerated  for  the 
purposes  of  the  story ;  there  were  many  wiser 
men  than  these  preachers ;  and  yet  it  will  readily 
be  admitted  that  not  so  many  years  ago  sermons 
of  the  sort  were  rehearsed  and  sought  after,  one 
body  of  Christians  arraying  itself  sternly  against 
another.  This  could  not  fail  to  bewilder  impres- 
sionable hearts  and  repel  thinking  minds.  Nat- 
urally David's  religious  peace  was  disturbed. 
"The  constant  discussion  of  some  dogma  and  dis- 
proof of  some  dogma  inevitably  begets  in  a  cer- 
tain order  of  mind  the  temper  to  discuss  and  dis- 
trust all  dogma."  The  division  into  Northern  and 
Southern  Churches  within  the  same  denomina- 
tion, each  intolerant  of  the  other,  while  apparent- 
ly slowly  disappearing  in  a  new  century,  was  di- 
rectly after  the  war  more  than  usually  acrimo- 
nious. The  methods,  too,  of  analyzing  the  Bible 
hurt  David.  "The  mysterious,  untouched  Christ- 
feeling  was  in  him  so  strong  that  he  shrank  from 


234  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

these  critical  analyses  as  he  would  from  dissect- 
ing the  body  of  the  crucified  Redeemer."  In 
David's  interview  the  pastor  seems  rough,  un- 
sympathetic, and  blind;  yet  it  could  have  oc- 
curred, for  there  are  such  men  in  the  Churches, 
although  we  know  all  are  by  no  means  so. 

The  catechism  scene  is  a  strong  one,  and  with 
the  growing  knowledge  and  wider  toleration  of  to- 
dayitalmost  seems  that  it  could  hardly  be  possible. 
But  we  know  such  experiences  were  common  with 
the  recreant  in  the  days  of  the  Church  militant, 
if  not  so  still.  The  heartiest  sympathies  go  out  to 
the  agonizing  soul  of  an  honest  man  doubting. 
*  'I  am  in  trouble !'  he  cried,  sitting  down  again. 
'I  don't  know  what  to  believe.  I  don't  know  what 
I  do  believe.  My  God  F  he  cried  again,  burying 
his  face  in  his  hands.  'I  believe  I  am  beginning 
to  doubt  the  Bible.  Great  God,  what  am  I  com- 
ing to?  What  is  my  life  corning  to?  Me  doubt 
the  Bible !' '  Denominationalism  run  mad !  is 
what  Mr.  Allen  sees,  although  it  be  possibly  in  his 
own  denomination  and  college.  But  this  has  kept 
Kentucky  and  many  another  State  and  section 
from  achieving  their  due  educationally.  For  it 
must  be  essentially  true.  "True  learning  always 
stands  for  peace.  Letters  always  stand  for 
peace,"  This  man  could  have  been  saved.  It  was 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  235 

a  worn-out  form  of  belief  and  practice  that  he  had 
fallen  upon;  and  if  he  could  have  been  saved, 
then  he  still  may  be  saved  and  is  worth  the  sav- 
ing. This  is  suggested  clearly,  and  is  the  central 
thought  of  the  second  part  of  the  volume,  as 
much  as  Faust's  redemption  is  the  subject  of 
Part  II.  of  Goethe's  great  poem. 

Fault  may  be  found  in  the  structure  of  the  book 
that  the  true  story  rests  in  the  first  half  with  the 
catastrophe.  There  the  book  could  have  ended, 
and  would  have  ended,  did  Mr.  Allen  belong  ex- 
clusively to  the  realists.  But  there  was  the  spir- 
itual awakening  of  Hilary  in  "Summer  in  Ar- 
cady ;"  there  was  the  moral  strengthening  of  John 
Gray  in  "The  Choir  Invisible,"  where  also  a  new 
element  enters  and  a  new  story  begins ;  and  there 
is  the  struggling  for  any  light  in  David.  An  old 
creed  was  outworn ;  a  new  one  to  suit  the  age 
and  the  man,  it  is  surely  intimated,  will  be  found 
for  the  struggler  by  means  of  the  eternal  feminine 
— Goethe's  das  ezvig  weiblichc. 

And  yet,  while  all  this  seems  true  as  to  purpose, 
it  is  just  as  true,  like  Goethe's  "Faust"  again,  that 
in  point  of  construction  of  plot  the  human  interest 
is  the  awful  struggle  of  the  human  soul.  The 
real  book  to  most  readers  will  still  end  with  the 
climax  and  catastrophe,  as  the  boy  leaves  college 


236  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

and  goes  to  his  father  and  mother  and  the  home 
left  two  years  before. 

As  he  approaches,  the  remembrance  of  each 
familiar  spot  and  scene  wells  up  in  him.  r'Crows 
about  the  corn  shocks,  flying  leisurely  to  the 
stake-and-ridered  fence,  there  alighting  with 
their  tails  pointing  toward  him  and  their  heads 
turned  sideways  over  one  shoulder ;  but  soon  pre- 
senting their  breasts,  seeing  he  did  not  hunt.  The 
solitary  caw  o-f  one  of  them — that  thin,  indifferent 
comment  of  their  sentinel,  perched  on  the  silver- 
gray  twig  of  a  sycamore.  In  another  field  the 
startled  flutter  of  field  larks  from  pale-yellow 
bushes  of  ground-apple.  Some  boys  out  rabbit- 
hunting  in  the  holidays,  with  red  cheeks  and  gay 
woolen  comforters  around  their  hot  necks  and 
jeans  jackets  full  of  Spanish  needles,  one  shoul- 
dering a  gun,  one  carrying  a  game  bag,  one  eat- 
ing an  apple ;  a  pack  of  dogs,  and  no  rabbit.  The 
winter  brooks,  trickling  through  banks  of  frozen 
grass  and  broken  reeds,  their  clear  brown  water 
sometimes  open,  sometimes  covered  with  figured 
ice.  Red  cattle  in  one  distant  wood,  moving  ten- 
der-footed around  the  edge  of  a  pond.  The  fall 
of  a  forest  tree  sounding  distinct  amid  the  reign- 
ing stillness,  felled  for  cord  wood.  And  in  one 
field — right  there  before  him! — the  chopping 


JAMES.  LANE   ALLEN.  237 

sound  of  busy  hemp  brakes  and  the  sight  of  ne- 
groes, one  singing  a  hymn.  O  the  memories,  the 
memories !" 

And  then  comes  the  blow !  "Father,  I  have 
been  put  out  of  college  and  expelled  from  the 
Church.1'  "For  what?"  "I  do  not  believe  the 
Bible  any  longer.  I  do  not  believe  in  Christian- 
ity/' "Why  have  you  come  back  here?  .  .  . 
O,  I  always  knew  there  was  nothing  in  you!"  It 
was  a  blow  given  and  a  blow  returned ! 

The  "presence  of  Nature  is  still  everywhere. 
The  storm  approaching  at  the  beginning  gives  the 
figure  carried  out  into  the  farthest  detail.  It  is 
Nature  that  awakens  David  to  new  conceptions 
of  law  like  the  sap  stirring  in  spring.  He  "be- 
holds familiar  objects  as  with  eyes  more  clearly 
opened ;  when  the  neutral  becomes  the  decisive, 
when  the  sermon  is  found  in  the  stone."  The 
scrubby  locust  bush  covered  with  the  wash  be- 
neath his  window  is  "one  of  those  uncomplaining 
asses  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  whose  mission  in 
life  is  to  carry  whatever  man  imposes."  "These 
two  simple  things — the  locust  leaves,  touched  by 
the  sun,  shaken  by  the  south  wind ;  the  dandelion 
shining  in  the  grass — awoke  in  him  the  whole 
vision  of  the  spring  now  arising  anew  out  of  the 
earth,  all  over  the  land :  great  Nature  I"  The 


238  JAMES   LANE   ALLEN. 

author's  special  favorites,  the  birds,  are  again 
prominent — not  the  "Cardinal,"  but  the  crow, 
blackbird,  quail,  dove,  and  pigeon. 

David's  mental  struggles  have  their  counter- 
type  in  the  processes  of  Nature.  "There  is  a  sort 
of  land  which  receives  in  autumn,  year  by  year, 
the  deposit  of  its  own  dead  leaves  and  weeds  and 
grasses  without  either  the  winds  and  waters  to 
clear  these  away  or  the  soil  to  reabsorb  and  re- 
convert them  into  the  materials  of  reproduction. 
Thus  year  by  year  the  land  tends  farther  toward 
sterility  by  the  very  accumulation  of  what  was 
once  its  life.  But  send  a  forest  fire  across  those 
smothering  strata  of  vegetable  decay ;  give  once 
more  a  chance  for  every  root  below  to  meet  the 
sun  above,  for  every  seed  above  to  reach  the 
ground  below ;  soon  again  the  barren  will  be  the 
fertile,  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose.  It  is  so 
with  the  human  mind." 

David's  trial  before  the  college  faculty  is  pic- 
tured with  an  eloquence  worthy  of  De  Quincey 
summoning  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  before  the 
tribunal  where  Joan  of  Arc  shall  be  witness  for 
him :  "Old,  old  scene  in  the  history  of  man,  the 
trial  of  his  Doubt  by  his  Faith ;  strange  day  of 
judgment,  when  one  half  of  the  human  spirit  ar- 
raigns and  condemns  the  other  half/'  The  author 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  239 

again  breaks  beyond  the  narrow  bounds  of  the 
local  and  passes  into  the  realms  of  the  universal. 
What  though  the  scene  be  laid  in  an  inland  col- 
lege town  of  Kentucky,  the  questions  are  those 
which  thrill  and  challenge  mankind. 

But  Mr.  Allen  cannot  be  content  with  negation 
or  destruction.  He  feels  there  is  something  posi- 
tive beyond,  more  to  be  experienced  and  more  to 
learn  in  the  essay  after  truth.  With  the  dramatic 
end  of  one  story  another  immediately  begins. 
Put  upon  the  stage,  the  action  would  end  here. 
But  while  dramatically  the  climax  has  been 
passed,  yet  for  the  removal  of  the  sense  of  in- 
completeness a  conclusion  must  be  added.  Out 
of  the  ashes  of  the  old  life  and  the  old  faith 
a  new  structure  is  to  rise — a  dwelling  spot  for 
love,  which  must  bring  forth  ultimately  the 
best  sort  of  life  and  the  highest,  because  ra- 
tional, ideals  of  faith.  The  story  fills  three  hun- 
dred and  eighty-five  pages,  and  the  first  reference 
to  the  second  important  character,  who  thence- 
forth dominates  the  book,  is  on  page  225 :  "Da- 
vid's college  experience  had  effected  the  first 
great  change  in  him  as  he  passed  from  youth  to 
manhood;  Gabriella  had  wrought  the  second." 
Absorbed  with  the  soul  struggle,  not  a  word  of 
Gabriella  hitherto  I 


240  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN. 

And  who  is  Gabriella?  The  author  must  go 
back  and,  unnecessarily  almost,  tell  of  a  first 
meeting,  or  at  least  seeing,  at  the  time  of  the  col- 
lege days  in  Lexington.  The  volume  of  Gabriel- 
la's  life  must  be  unrolled.  It  was  a  life  such  as 
many  another  had  suffered,  and  it  had  brought 
spiritual  exaltation.  Gabriella  was  fourteen  when 
the  war  broke  out.  There  were  the  changes  in 
the  social  life  in  the  South  and  in  Kentucky 
wrought  by  the  war,  the  decay  of  the  old  fabric, 
and  the  wrecking  of  families  and  lives,  and  then 
the  spiritual  as  well  as  the  physical  building  up 
and  adjustment  to  the  new  order.  The  descrip- 
tion forms  a  detached  idyl  in  the  book.  UO  ye 
who  have  young  children,  if  possible  give  them 
happy  memories !  Fill  their  earliest  years  with 
bright  pictures!  A  great  historian  many  centu- 
ries ago  wrote  it  down  that  the  first  thing  con- 
quered in  battle  are  the  eyes:  the  soldier  flees 
from  what  he  sees  before  him.  But  so  often  in 
the  world's  fight  we  are  defeated  by  what  we  look 
back  upon ;  we  are  whipped  in  the  end  by  the 
things  we  saw  in  the  beginning  of  life.  The  time 
arrived  for  Gabriella  when  the  gorgeous  fairy 
tale  of  her  childhood  was  all  that  she  had  to  sus- 
tain her,  when  it  meant  consolation,  courage,  for- 
titude, victory." 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  241 

Only  one  false  note  is  struck,  in  the  specific 
mention  of  New  England,  "  as  respects  the  orig- 
inal traffic  in  human  souls."  The  shadow  of  con- 
troversy has  no  place  here. 

The  bringing  together  of  the  lives  of  this  man 
and  this  woman  is  effected :  the  mutual  influences 
of  the  elements  of  strength  and  weakness  that  have 
gone  to  make  up  both,  the  support  each  can  offer, 
the  demands  each  must  make.  The  contrast  is 
wrought  between  their  different  sorts  of  faith  and 
their  different  natures  and  needs,  and  the  con- 
quering of  neither  one  wholly,  but  a  strengthen- 
ing union  of  both,  will  be  Nature's  outcome. 

There  are  many  fine  passages  in  this  latter  por- 
tion :  the  sleet  and  snow  storm,  the  care  for  the 
cattle,  the  life  on  the  farm,  the  inborn  sympathy 
between  man  and  other  animal  creatures,  a  new- 
er and  wider  interpretation  of  Nature's  aspects 
and  processes,  not  as  of  some  direct  inten- 
tion toward  man,  but  as  "small  incidents  in 
the  long  history  of  the  planet's  atmosphere  and 
changing  surface."  The  love-making  is  inclined 
to  become  too  didactic,  a  discussion  of  dogmas 
and  of  new  beliefs  and  theories  in  place  of  old 
ones,  and  Gabriella  is  in  some  danger  of  being  a 
"patient  Griselda"  to  the  demands  of  this  uncon- 
scious but  natural  egotist.  Many  a  weary  hour 
16 


242  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN. 

she  will  have  to  pass  before  he  tortuously  works 
himself  to  an  understanding  with  her.  It  is  a  pity 
that  the  exigencies  of  the  development  of  the 
changes  in  belief  must  give  space  thus  far  to  the 
discussion  of  many  theories.  Artistically  it  is  a 
blemish,  and  is  to  be  defended  only  on  the  ground 
that  otherwise  the  actions  of  David  might  seem 
obscure  or  illogical.  Like  "Aftermath,"  this  part 
is  an  epilogue  to  a  previous  story,  and  will  have 
its  fine  points,  but  cannot  sustain  the  same  inter- 
est. And  yet  the  everlasting  truth  is  gradually 
unrolled  that  it  is  the  patience  and  tenderness  and 
faith  of  woman  whereby  man  at  length  finds  spir- 
itual regeneration  and  salvation. 

If  Mr.  Allen's  change  of  title  in  his  English 
edition,  "The  Increasing  Purpose/'  did  not  indi- 
cate this,  it  would  be  revealed  in  the  last  bit  of 
conversation  vouchsafed  in  the  book.  Surely  the 
meaning  is  clear:  "Ah,  Gabriella,  it  is  love  that 
makes  man  believe  in  a  God  of  Love !"  "David  !" 
David!" —  A  way  to  a  higher  and  purer  faith 
and  conduct  of  life  is  implied.  Only  a  description 
and  a  reflection  are  added — of  the  hemp,  the  real 
pervasive  element  in  the  whole  book,  and  the  em- 
blem of  man's  life  directed  toward  beneficent 
ends: 

"The  south  wind,  warm  with  the  first  thrill 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN.  243 

of  summer,  blew  from  across  the  valley,  from 
across  the  mighty  rushing  sea  of  the  young  hemp. 
"O  Mystery  Immortal !  which  is  in  the  hemp 
and  in  our  souls,  in  its  bloom  and  in  our  passions ; 
by  which  our  poor,  brief  lives  are  led  upward  out 
of  the  earth  for  a  season,  then  cut  down,  rotted 
and  broken — for  Thy  long  service!" 

NOTE. — A  new  work  by  Mr.  Allen,  "The  Mettle  of 
the  Pasture,"  or,  as  it  was  at  first  called,  "Crypts  of  the 
Heart" — for  Mr.  Allen  ponders  long  over,  and  is  easily 
dissatisfied  with,  his  titles — has  been  announced  by  the 
publishers  since  the  above  was  written,  but  has  not  ap- 
peared in  time  to  be  included  in  this  discussion.  It  will 
be  interesting  to  the  writer  of  these  pages  to  know  how 
far  this  new  volume  of  Mr.  Allen's  bears  out  or  contro- 
verts some  of  the  judgments  here  expressed. 


MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON. 

BY    HENRY    N.    SNYDER. 

To  place  Mrs.  Burton  Harrison  among  dis- 
tinctively Southern  writers  may  at  first  glance 
seem  quite  beside  the  mark.  A  great  deal  of. 
her  literary  work  and  much  of  her  own  life  and 
experience  do  not  even  suggest  those  things 
that  are  essentially  of  the  South — its  simplic- 
ities of  life,  its  peculiar  social  conditions,  and 
its  provincialism  of  thought  and  outlook.  But 
Mrs.  Harrison's  detachment  from  the  South 
is  apparent,  not  real.  In  ancestry,  in  tempera- 
ment, in  those  formative  influences  that  give 
shape  to  character  and  determine  point  of  view, 
she  is  essentially  of  the  South.  And  she  herself 
is  glad  to  be  classed  among  the  writers  of  this 
section,  to  be  considered  a  literary  product  not 
of  New  York,  but  of  the  South. 

To  say  that  Mrs.  Constance  Gary  Harrison  is 
of  Virginia  ancestry  and  rearing  is  not  enough. 
For  to  call  but  half  a  dozen  names  in  that  an- 
cestry is  to  show  that  she  is  a  Virginian  of  Vir- 
ginians, and  to  suggest  much  in  the  history  of 
the  Old  Dominion — Blair,  Gary,  Jefferson,  Fair- 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  245 

fax,  Randolph.  Her  father  was  Archibald  Gary, 
of  Carysbrook.  The  family,  coming  originally 
from  Devonshire,  was  of  the  best  English  stock. 
The  first  of  the  name  in  America  was  Col.  Miles 
Gary,  who  came  to  Virginia  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  In  the  days  of  Sir  William 
Berkeley,  Col.  Cary  was  a  member  of  the  King's 
Council.  Wilson  Jefferson  Cary,  the  father  of 
Archibald  Cary,  was  the  nephew  of  the  author 
.  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  his  wife 
was  the  ward  and  pupil  of  the  same  great  Amer- 
ican, by  whom  she  was  taught  that  "a  woman 
should  try  to  think  and  write  in  original  fashion, 
and  should  learn  something  else  besides  worsted 
work,  preserving,  and  strumming  on  the  piano.'' 
Then,  too,  Archibald  Cary  could  number  among 
his  ancestors  the  great  Dr.  James  Blair,  founder 
of  William  and  Mary  College,  whom  the  historian 
of  American  literature  (Moses  Coit  Tyler)  calls 
"the  creator  of  the  healthiest  and  the  most  ex- 
tensive intellectual  influence  that  was  felt  in  the 
Southern  group  of  colonies  before  the  Revolu- 
tion." 

But  if  one  wishes  to  account  for  Mrs.  Har- 
rison's literary  bent  from  the  standpoint  of  he- 
redity, one  need  not  go  to  so  remote  an  ancestor 
as  Dr.  Blair.  Her  grandmother,  Mrs.  Wilson 


246  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

Jefferson  Gary,  whom  we  have  already  men- 
tioned as  the  ward  and  pupil  of  Jefferson,  was 
well  known  in  her  day  as  the  author  of  a  series 
of  little  books  entitled  "Letters  from  a  Mother 
to  Her  Daughter."  She  was  also  the  author  of 
a  number  of  stories  and  poems,  stiff  and  old- 
fashioned  in  style,  yet  with  some  humor  and  the 
display  of  a  plentiful  knowledge  of  the  classics. 
Mrs.  Harrison's  father,  a  lawyer  by  profession, 
was,  as  the  editor  of  the  Cumberland  (Md.). 
Ceorlian,  a  forcible  and  scholarly  writer  on  po- 
litical issues  and  general  current  topics.  Her 
mother,  too,  wrote  some  graceful  stories,  which 
were  printed  in  the  weekly  papers  of  Baltimore 
and  Virginia.  Then  from  the  days  of  the  col- 
onies both  the  Gary  and  the  Fairfax  families 
were  generally  noted  for  their  interest  in  intel- 
lectual matters  and  for  their  large  collections  of 
books.  With  such  an  ancestry,  both  immediate 
and  remote — born,  too,  in  a  home  accustomed  to 
the  handling  of  many  books  and  periodicals — 
Mrs.  Harrison  came  quite  honestly  by  her  lit- 
erary bent.  Indeed,  she  hardly  remembers  the 
time  when  she  did  not  write  stones  and  declaim 
plays,  putting  her  dolls  through  impromptu  dia-  ' 
logues  as  actors. 

When  we  turn  to  the  maternal  side  of  Mrs. 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  247 

Harrison's  ancestry,  we  find  the  same  royalty 
of  Virginia  stock.  Her  mother  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Thomas,  ninth  Lord  Fairfax,  of  Vauclusc. 
Fairfax  County,  Va.  And  thus,  if  not  by  actual 
blood  relationship,  certainly  by  the  closest  inti- 
macies of  friendship,  her  family  is  connected 
with  Washington. 

Col.  Archibald  Gary  died  young,  and  upon  his 
widow  was  devolved  the  bringing  up  of  a  family, 
With  them  she  went  back  to  the  seat  of  the 
Fairfaxes,  Yaucluse,  near  Arlington — Arling- 
ton, the  home  of  the  Lees.  The  Fairfaxes  and 
the  Lees  were  always  intimate,  and  Mrs.  Robert 
E.  Lee  was  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Harrison's  father. 
In  a  lovely  old  colonial,  white-stuccoed  house, 
amid  such  surroundings  and  associations,  with 
a  mind  naturally  alert  and  sure  to  retain  their 
suggestiveness,  with  a  French  governess  to  di- 
rect the  merely  formal  part  of  her  education,  Con- 
stance Gary  passed  the  period  of  her  childhood 
and  youth. 

But  this  splendid  old  civilization  of  which  the 
Carys  and  the  Fairfaxes  were  so  typical  was  not 
to  last.  The  fury  of  the  war  came  to  sweep  it 
away,  leaving  it  but  a  memory.  The  family  had 
even  to  flee  the  ancestral  home,  as  it  was  demol- 
ished by  the  Union  army  in  the  building  of  their 


248  '  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

fortifications.  Hastily  burying  the  old  colonial 
silver  brought  out  by  Lord  Fairfax,  Mrs.  Gary, 
with  her  family,  abandoned  her  home  to  seek 
safety  in  the  Confederate  lines.  This  incident 
is  described  by  Mrs.  Harrison  in  a  story  called 
"Winwood's  Luck/'  published  in  Lippincott's 
Magazine.  Back  and  forth  over  Virginia  for  four 
years  fought  the  armies  of  the  Union  and  the 
armies  of  the  Confederacy,  until  the  Mother 
State  finally  drew  the  remnant  of  her  family  to 
her  bosom  in  the  crushing,  benumbing  realiza- 
tion of  actual  defeat ;  and  then,  turning  her  tear- 
dimmed  eyes  to  the  future,  opened  a  new  and 
a  strange  page  in  her  history.  Through  all  these 
experiences,  as  an  impressionable  young  wom- 
an with  heart  and  mind  open,  Mrs.  Harrison 
passed;  and  what  was  then  deeply  etched  into 
mind  and  heart  she  was  afterwards  to  record  in 
a  group  of  writings  which;  in  the  thin  disguise 
of  fiction,  are  really  autobiographical. 

The  war  over,  Mrs.  Cary  left  behind  her  its 
wreck  and  ruin,  and  went  with  her  daughter  for 
a  prolonged  stay  in  Europe.  Thus  began  in  the 
experience  of  Mrs.  Harrison  that  breadth  of  cul- 
ture and  observation  which  furnishes  a  distinctly 
cosmopolitan  element  to  her  writings,  and  espe- 
cially that  character  which  she  has  made  famil- 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  249 

iar  to  two  continents — the  American  "tripper" 
abroad,  knocking  at  the  society  of  the  European 
capitals  and  airing  that  blatant  snobbishness  in- 
herent in  a  certain  phase  of  our  own  society. 
So  this  first  visit  abroad  was  a  distinct  stage  in 
her  preparation  as  a  writer. 

Returning  to  America,  Constance  Gary  be- 
came the  wife  of  Burton  Harrison,  Esquire.  Mr. 
Harrison  had  been  Private  Secretary  of  Pres- 
ident Jefferson  Davis,  and  was  with  him  when 
captured.  He  came  to  New  York  just  after  the 
war,  and  has  since  won  distinction  as  a  lawyer. 
His  struggles  and  successes,  no  doubt,  have  fur- 
nished to  Mrs.  Harrison  a  sort  of  type  for  her 
numerous  lawyer  heroes.  At  any  rate,  after  her 
marriage  she  took  up  her  permanent  residence 
in  New  York,  and  with  it  came  the  opportunity 
for  observing  those  phases  of  its  social  life  that 
enter  so  largely  into  her  novels. 

She  is,  however,  a  great  traveler.  Her  sum- 
mers are  spent  at  her  cottage,  "Sea  Urchins," 
Bar  Harbor,  Me.  "Bar  Harbor  Days"  is  the 
record  of  social  life  there.  During  the  last  ten 
or  more  years  she  has  visited  almost  all  parts  of 
,  the  world  worth  seeing.  It  is  this  that  has  given 
to  her  work  much  of  that  air  of  cosmopolitanism 
which  at  times  seems  to  detach  her  interest  from 


25O  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

her  native  land,  not  to  say  from  her  native  sec- 
tion— the  South.  But  aside  from  its  influence 
upon  her  works,  aside  from  the  material  it  has 
furnished  to  a  personality  essentially  charming 
and  sincere,  this  travel  has  added  the  breadth 
and  refinement  of  old-world  culture. 

With  this  general  review  of  what  of  the  world 
Mrs.  Harrison  has  seen  and  experienced,  we  are 
prepared  to  say,  with  even  a  superficial  glance 
at  her  writings,  that  she  has  painted  the  pros- 
pect from  her  own  door ;  that  she  represents  not 
only  life,  but  life  as  she  herself  saw  and  experi- 
enced it.  On  this  account  it  is  not  difficult  to 
bring  her  literary  output  into  three  or  four  clear- 
ly defined  groups  according  as  they  seem  to  be 
the  perfectly  natural  outgrowths  of  her  own  life 
and  observation.  There  are  books  for  children ; 
a  series  of  comedies  translated  from  the  French ; 
those  novels  dealing  with  New  York  and  inter- 
national society,  constituting  the  greater  por- 
tion of  her  work ;  novels  of  Southern  manners 
and  life ;  and  historical  papers  dealing  mainly 
with  Southern  themes. 

The  first  two  groups  may  be  soon  dismissed. 
Mrs.  Harrison  is  the  author  of  two  successful ' 
books   for   children :   "The   Old-fashioned   Fairy 
Book"  (1884)  and  "Bric-a-brac  Stories"  (1885) 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  251 

She  has  also  translated  a  series  of  French  com- 
edies for  immediate  use  in  amateur  theatricals, 
which  were  afterwards  published  under  the  name 
of  "Short  Comedies  for  Amateur  Players.'' 

With  **A  Little  Centennial  Lady,"  published  in 
1876  in  the  Century  Magazine,  Mrs.  Harrison 
made  her  first  real  venture  into  literature.  For 
the  material  of  this  charming  bit  of  Virginia 
life  she  drew  upon  her  own  family  annals.  Her 
great-aunt,  Sally  Fairfax,  friend  and  neighbor  of 
Washington,  left  some  letters  and  a  diary  giv- 
ing a  delightful  account  of  the  domestic  life  of 
pre-revolutionary  Virginia  at  Towleston.  These 
gossipy  fragments  from  those  old  days  were  un- 
earthed from  a  family  chest,  and  the  favor  with 
which  they  were  received  as  "A  Little  Centen- 
nial Lady"  gave  the  new  author  just  the  encour- 
agement needed. 

With  the  impulse  to  self-expression,  and  with 
an  ancestry  and  a  family  history  all  bound  with 
the  nation's  history,  it  would  be  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise if  Mrs.  Harrison  did  not  do  a  great  deal  of 
historical  work.  The  fact  is  that  from  time  to 
time  through  the  magazines  she  has  given  some 
vivid  and  readable  historical  sketches.  In  Vol- 
ume XXX.  (1885)  of  the  Century  Magazine  was 
published  "A  Virginia  Girl  in  the  First  Years  of 


252  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

the  War/1  a  record  of  her  own  experiences  dur- 
ing those  trying  times.  And  in  passing  one  may 
sayof  this, as  well  as  of  her  other  historical  sketch- 
es, that  they  are  so  faithful  in  detail  and  display  such 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  facts  as  to  strengthen 
in  the  mind  of  the  reader  of  her  novels  dealing 
with  the  same  themes  the  feeling  that  they  too 
are  essentially  true  in  spirit — in  a  special  sense 
they  are  also  history.  She  has  told  for  us,  with 
sympathy  of  insight  and  with  the  gossipy  charm 
of  an  eyewitness,  two  phases  in  the  life  of  the 
first  President — "Homes  and  Haunts  of  "Wash- 
ington" (Century  Magazine,  Vol.  XXXV.,  1887), 
and  two  years  later  in  the  same  magazine  "Wash- 
ington at  Mount  Vernon  After  the  Revolu- 
tion." In  1888,  at  the  request  of  the  New  York 
Historical  Society,  she  prepared  a  sketch  of  the 
Fairfaxes  in  America.  This  was  followed,  in  the 
Century  Magazine,  June,  1891,  by  a  thoroughly 
individualized  study  of  that  fascinating  Virginia 
aristocrat  of  the  days  before  the  Revolution, 
Col.  Byrd,  of  Westover,  courtier,  pioneer,  wit, 
author,  and  leader  of  the  Knights  of  the  Horse- 
shoe. "Externals  of  New  York/'  the  conclusion 
of  Mrs.  Martha  Lamb's  "History  of  New  York/' 
appeared  in  1897. 

In  1878,  in  "Harper's  Half-hour  Series,"  was 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  253 

published  Mrs.  Harrison's  story  entitled  "Golden 
Rod,"  republished  in  1892  in  a  volume  with 
other  stories.  This  story  clearly  begins  that  vein 
which  was  afterwards  worked  so  effectively  in 
"Anglomaniacs,"  New  York  society  as  it  ap- 
pears at  watering  places,  on  shipboard,  and  on 
dress  parade  in  its  own  drawing-rooms.  In  this 
story,  "Golden  Rod,''  we  are  at  once  impressed 
with  a  certain  refinement  of  manner,  a  delicate 
clearness  in  the  drawing  of  character,  a  fidelity 
in  the  depicting  of  background,  a  sprightliness 
of  dialogue,  and  a  cosmopolitanism  of  social 
conditions — all  of  which  are  the  characteristic 
marks  of  her  later  writings. 

Three  years  later  "Helen  Troy''  continues  the 
same  vein  in  the  same  method  with  greater  clev- 
erness and  variety  of  portraiture,  more  wit  and 
piquancy  of  dialogue.  Here  we  have  for  the  first 
time  in  Madame  de  Preville  a  type  of  woman 
that  rarely  leaves  her  stories — a  type  educated 
and  married  abroad,  fluttering  back  and  forth 
from  one  continent  to  another ;  a  type  which 
is  neither  quite  American  nor  quite  European, 
a  sort  of  tcrtium  quid,  at  worst  a  summarized 
product  of  what  in  each  is  shallow  and  petty. 

"Helen  Troy"  brought  enough  success  to  its 
author  to  encourage  her  to  keep  on  with  the 


254  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

same  theme.  So  in  1890,  in  the  Century  Maga- 
zine, "Anglomaniacs"  was  published  anony- 
mously. The  success  of  this  one  was  instant  and 
general,  and  Mrs.  Harrison  saw  that  she  had 
really  come  to  her  own  as  regards  material  and 
the  appreciation  of  the  public.  The  result  has 
been  that  in  the  ten  years  following  "Anglo- 
maniacs"  she  has  given  to  an  appreciative  con- 
stituency eight  novels  upon  her  favorite  theme, 
not  to  speak  of  the  numerous  short  stories  that 
have  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  the  various 
magazines.  Five  of  the  series  came  out  in  the 
Century:  "Anglomaniacs,"  1890;  "Sweet  Bells 
Out  of  Tune/'  1893;  "Bachelor  Maid,"  1894; 
"An  Errant  Wooing,"  1895 ;  and  "Good  Amer- 
icans," 1897.  The  rest  were  published  in  book 
form:  "A  Triple  Entanglement,"  1897;  "The 
Carcelline  Emerald,"  1899;  and  "The  Circle  of 
a  Century,"  1899.  This  latter  one  is  significant 
in  that  the  first  part  goes  back  to  Colonial  and 
Revolutionary  New  York,  and  the  second  part 
gives  us  New  York  of  the  present  day. 

In  each  of  the  novels  of  this  group  the  mate- 
rial used,  the  characters  portrayed,  the  atmos- 
phere and  surroundings  and  manner  of  treat- 
ment are  generally  the  same.  Each  is  a  story  of 
the  extreme  upper  circle  of  New  York  social  life, 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  255 

especially  on  its  feminine  side.  There  is  a  glar- 
ing display  of  wealth,  plenty  of  leisure,  inordi- 
nate social  ambition,  an  openness  to  every  whim 
and  fad  and  freak,  the  goading  presence  of  an 
almost  intolerable  ennui,  contempt  for  one's  native 
land  and  its  quiet,  plain  people,  a  general  ab- 
sence of  the  wholesome  simplicities  of  life  ex- 
cept as  some  shock — a  convulsive  experience  of 
failure — breaks  through  the  incrusted  conven- 
tions into  the  common  human  heart.  This 
world,  too,  is  essentially  a  woman's  world  of 
parlor  and  drawing-room,  of  watering  places  and 
ocean  liners. 

"Anglomaniacs"  is  a  typical  representative  of 
the  group.  Mrs.  Floyd-Curtis  is  of  that  class  of 
women  who  have  become  suddenly  rich — in  this 
case  from  the  speculations  of  a  Western  father. 
This  suddenly  acquired  wealth  transforms  a 
home-bred  American  matron  of  really  noble  pos- 
sibilities into  a  mere  social  convention  of  the 
most  exaggerated  sort.  She  must  get  into  "so- 
ciety"— not  only  New  York  society,  but  also  the 
society  of  all  the  European  capitals.  So  she 
goes  abroad  to  de-Americanize  herself  and  to 
acquire  a  "hyphenated"  name.  She  is  under  the 
"coaching"  of  Mrs.  Bertie  Clay,  who  begins  a 
type  found  in  the  novels  of  this  group :  married 


256  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

women  with  an  uncertain  past  and  a  still  more 
uncertain  future.  These  women  furnish,  so  to 
speak,  Mrs.  Harrison's  conventional  villain. 
She  appears  as  Mrs.  De  Lancey  in  kiSweet  Bells 
Out  of  Tune,"  and  as  Madame  Schaffer  in  the 
"Bachelor  Maid."  It  is  love,  perverted  and  slain 
by  these  unwholesome  conditions  and  by  the 
low  aims  which  grow  naturally  out  of  them,  that 
furnishes  the  tragic  elements.  Lily  Floyd-Curtis 
begins  as  an  unspoiled  American  girl  with  mag- 
nificent possibilities  of  royal  womanhood  in  her 
— brusque,  a  trifle  flamboyant,  self-reliant,  and 
sound  to  the  very  core  of  her  nature.  She  ends 
by  slaying  these  possibilities,  and  is  transformed 
into  a  breathing  picture  of  kka  conventionalized 
young  womanhood — a  type  of  the  perfected  arti- 
ficiality of  a  society  that  has  no  parallel  in  forcing 
growths." 

But  what  of  the  men  who  play  their  parts  in 
the  life  that  Mrs.  Harrison  represents  with  such 
fidelity  ?  They  are  blase  American  gentlemen  of 
leisure,  dawdling  idlers,  sportsmen,  foreign  no- 
blemen of  various  sorts,  seeking  to  satisfy  the 
social  cravings  of  American  mammas  of  the 
Mrs.  Floyd-Curtis  type  by  offering  their  titles 
in  exchange  for  the  beauty  and  wealth  of  the 
daughters.  There  are  still  other  classes  of  men 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  257 

represented :  there  are  the  husbands  of  these 
women  with  social  aspirations — plain,  American 
fellows  who  appear  on  the  scene  but  rarely,  and 
then  are  dazed  and  bored  by  the  glare  and  glitter 
and  artificiality  of  the  life  which  their  wives  and 
daughters  are  leading.  They  are  the  under- 
ground toilers  whose  sweat  and  blood  furnish 
the  gold  that  makes  possible  that  life.  Then 
there  is  another  quite  wholesome  class  of  simple, 
strong,  brave  men,  conquering  life  in  a  stren- 
uous, masterful  way.  It  is  the  young  Southern- 
er, Brockington,  in  "Sweet  Bells  Out  of  Tune/' 
and  that  other  Southerner  in  "Good  Amer- 
icans," Davenant ;  it  is  the  young  English  sci- 
entist, Jencks,  in  "Anglomaniacs,"  and  Gordon 
in  the  "Bachelor  Maid." 

This  novel,  "Bachelor  Maid/'  is  worthy  of  a 
separate  note.  Here  and  there  Mrs.  Harrison 
has  given  as  an  essential  element  in  a  society 
greedy  for  sensations  the  "advanced  woman/'  a 
notably  attractive  specimen  being  found  in 
"Good  Americans."  But  in  "Bachelor  Maid" 
this  type  of  woman  is  given  a  distinct  place  as 
heroine.  Marion  Irvine  is  the  daughter  of  Judge 
Irvine,  an  old-fashioned,  commonplace  gentle- 
man of  wealth,  whose  ideals  of  woman  come 
from  his  memory  of  his  hard-working,  domes- 
'7 


258  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

tic,  yielding,  uncomplaining  wife  and  mother. 
But  some  of  the  "woman's  rights  gang,"  as  he 
says,  have  persuaded  Marion  that  she  has  a  "mis- 
sion/' and  so  they  start  her  on  a  "steeplechase 
after  philanthropy."  The  truth  is  she  is  sim- 
ply an  unconventional  young  woman  of  wealth 
and  leisure,  with  vague,  impelling  desires  for  a 
higher,  larger,  more  effective  life,  opposing  mar- 
riage because  to  her  it  seems  to  cramp  and  in 
the  end  to  defeat  the  possibilities  of  that  life. 
So  with  a  contempt  for  man  she  leaves  her  fa- 
ther's roof  to  take  up,  in  company  with  a  friend, 
an  independent  course  of  action,  to  smother 
herself  in  multiplied  charities  and  waste  her 
energies  in  the  passion  to  help  everybody.  But 
struggle  as  she  may  to  crush  out  the  essentially 
womanly  element  in  her  nature,  love  is  the  final 
solution  of  the  woman's  question,  and  "whatever 
life  work  a  woman  has  to  do,  she  does  it  better 
for  sharing  it  with  a  man." 

The  local  color  of  New  York  as  the  back- 
ground for  her  novels  Mrs.  Harrison  has  caught 
with  remarkable  fidelity.  Indeed,  Mr.  Brander 
Mathews  is  her  only  rival  in  this  respect.  Its  the- 
aters, its  street  cars,  its  ferryboats,  its  streets, 
its  offices,  its  mansions,  the  din  and  confusion  of 
its  surging  life,  its  breathless,  pitiless  hurry,  the 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  259 

vulgar  brutality  of  its  newspapers — all  are  made 
to  seem  the  fitting  surroundings  out  of  which 
her  characters  must  grow  and  in  which  they 
must  move  and  have  their  being.  Moreover,  she 
shows  the  same  fidelity  to  background  even 
when  she  moves  her  characters  from  place  to 
place.  This  is  really  the  continuation  of  a  meth- 
od begun  as  far  back  as  "Golden  Rod."  For  ex- 
ample, "An  Errant  Wooing"  and  "Good  Ameri- 
cans'' in  certain  parts  might  be  taken  as  charm- 
ingly written  guidebooks,  the  one  of  Spain  and 
Northern  Africa,  the  other  of  Asia  Minor  and 
Greece.  Indeed,  this  phase  of  fiction — the  phase 
that  makes  so  much  of  the  shifting  background 
of  the  characters — is  a  distinct  achievement  of 
Mrs.  Harrison's. 

As  far  as  plot,  the  working  out  of  a  compli- 
cated series  of  events,  is  concerned,  these  stories 
have  comparatively  little.  There  is  no  baffling 
mystery,  no  deep  entanglement,  no  stir  of  mov- 
ing adventure.  Indeed,  so  thinly  disguised  is 
the  development  of  the  plot  that  there  are  no 
surprises.  It  is  the  expected  that  usually  hap- 
pens. The  chief  element  of  variety  is  merely  a 
change  of  scene — from  one  drawing-room  to 
another,  from  one  resort  to  another,  from 
America  to  Europe  and  then  back  again.  There 


260 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 


is,  then,  a  limpid,  rather  gentle  flow  of  events 
which  eddy  about  certain  misunderstandings, 
sputter  into  little  jets  of  foam,  or  heave  into  a 
well-bred  storm  when  two  currents  of  social  am- 
bitions meet  or  when  the  world-old  passion  is 
being  thwarted  and  slain. 

But  if  there  is  generally  the  absence  of  a  com- 
plicated or  moving  plot,  what  is  it  that  holds  the 
interest  of  the  reader?  The  first  thing  is  the 
revelation  of  individualized  types  of  character 
through  dialogue.  For  clear,  sparkling  dia- 
logue— the  real  talk  of  real  persons — Mrs.  Har- 
rhon  is  unsurpassed  among  writers  who  are  now 
doing  fiction  work.  Certainly  no  other  Ameri- 
can writer  makes  dialogue  sustain  so  important 
a  relation  to  the  story.  With  Mrs.  Harrison  it 
is  easy,  graceful,  well-bred,  delicate,  displaying, 
beneath  an  apparent  lightness  of  touch  and  a 
certain  quiet  restraint  in  her  art,  an  absolute 
fidelity  to  character  and  surroundings.  It  was 
so  high  an  authority  as  Mrs.  Thackeray-Ritchie 
who  said  of  the  parts  o»f  "Sweet  Bells  Out  of 
Tune,"  treating  of  English  social  life,  that  it  was 
4 'the  best  light-touch  work  ever  done  by  an 
alien." 

Each  of  these  stories  is  of  the  nature  of  a  so- 
cial satire,  suggesting  Howells  on  the  one  hand 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  26 1 

in  the  accuracy  with  which  they  record  appar- 
ently trivial  details,  and  Thackeray  on  the  other 
in  their  indignation,  quiet  and  restrained,  in  the 
presence  of  social  shams,  the  snobbishness,  the 
sheer  vanity,  the  low  aims,  the  vulgar  ambitions, 
and  the  crude,  coarse  materialism  of  American 
society  with  its  veneer  of  imitated  manners.  As 
one  reads,  one  is  bound  to  think  constantly  of 
"Vanity  Fair"  and  its  world;  and  one  thinks  of 
"Vanity  Fair''  all  the  more  strongly  because 
Mrs.  Harrison  is  so  unsparing  of  the  trivial 
vices  of  her  own  sex — the  conventions,  the 
tricks,  the  artifices  that  harden  a  woman's  na- 
ture and  make  of  it  a  bundle  of  petty  hypocrisies. 
But  her  analysis  rather  reminds  one  of  Jane 
Austen's  method  in  the  record  of  the  thousand 
and  one  trivialities,  foibles,  and  vices  of  char- 
acter, than  George  Eliot's  way  of  laying  bare 
one  great  determining  sin  and  its  pitiless  con- 
sequences. 

Satire  generally  impresses  one  with  a  sort  of 
hopelessness.  It  is  apt  to  give  one  the  feeling 
that  conditions  are  bad,  utterly  bad,  and  there 
is  no  remedy.  This,  however,  is  not  the  impres- 
sion produced  by  Mrs.  Harrison's  social  satire. 
Her  touch  is  too  light,  too  restrained,  to  start 
with.  Besides,  her  point  of  view  is  altogether 


262  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

hopeful.  In  the  dizzy  whirl  of  that  artificial  life, 
b\  way  of  contrast,  she  always  places  an  accusing 
type  of  a  wholesome  American  home,  with  the 
realities  of  unspoiled  loves  and  sacred  humanities 
— the  queen-mother  of  which  can  say  in  all  truth  : 
"With  all  the  abuse  we  Americans  have  to  stand, 
I  claim  for  us  average  people  an  intimacy  of  do- 
mestic life,  a  unity  of  interest  with  our  children, 
that  you  see  in  few  other  countries.  My  boys  and 
my  girls  are  the  best  part  of  my  existence,  and 
their  habit  of  confidence  sweetens  the  bitter  drops 
of  the  daily  cup."  ("Good  Americans.")  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  it  is  the  Virginia  home 
that  thus  speaks  even  in  the  midst  of  New  York 
conditions,  and  that  Mrs.  Harrison  is  a  voice  from 
the  South  in  this  phase  of  her  work  just  as  when 
she  makes  the  best  type  of  her  men  Southerners. 

It  is  her  novels  of  this  Southern  life  that  con- 
cern us  most.  In  the  September  number,  1885, 
of  the  Century  Magazine,  Mrs.  Harrison  achieved 
her  first  success  as  a  writer  of  stories  depicting 
Southern  scenes.  "Crow's  Nest"  is  a  pitiful  trag- 
edy O'f  the  war,  beautifully  told.  One  feels  that 
it  must  be  essentially  typical  of  the  fine  old  Vir- 
ginia life  which  bared  itself  so  heroically  to  the 
fierce  fury  of  the  war.  The  faithful  old  slave, 
himself  a  knightly  gentleman ;  the  simple,  brave 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  263 

Virginia  planter,  giving  to  his  country  one  after 
the  other  his  stalwart  boys,  even  to  the  curly- 
headed  lad  in  his  teens;  the  pathos  of  a  woman's 
heart  when  love  lies  bleeding  and  life  is  desolate 
— all  are  blended  together  by  a  quiet,  unaffected 
art  into  a  picture  of  exquisite  tenderness  and 
beauty. 

This  story  has  been  followed  from  time  to  time 
in  the  same  magazine  by  others  representing 
Virginia  life  before  and  during  the  war— "Pe- 
nelope's Swains,"  "Gay's  Romance,"  "Monsieur 
Alcibiade."  These  have  since  been  collected  into 
a  volume  entitled  "Crow's  Nest  and  Bellhaven 
Tales"  (1892).  Even  a  superficial  reader  can 
readily  detect  in  the  most  of  them  the  subtle 
charm  and  the  impression  of  reality  that  belong 
to  personal  reminiscence.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Harri- 
son herself  says  that  they  are  full  of  reminis- 
cences of  her  old  life,  and  particularly  of  visits  to 
her  grandmother's  home  in  Alexandria,  Virginia. 
If  one  wishes,  then,  pictures  of  quiet,  high-bred, 
wholesome  Virginia  life  —  pictures  in  softest 
lights,  warmed  by  the  mellow  glow  of  sentiment, 
suffused  with  the  gentle  haze  of  a  delicate,  re- 
fined humor — one  can  find  them  in  the  "Bellhaven 
Tales."  There  is  nothing  strained  or  overdrawn  ; 
no  mawkish,  sobby  sentimentalitv  over  either  the 


264  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

old  days  or  the  new ;  no  pompous  inflation  of 
manners,  often  characteristic  of  much  that  pur- 
ports to  represent  the  past  of  Virginia.  And  the 
negro  is  there,  but  in  his  proper  place  as  acces- 
sory, not  as  the  chief  factor.  Full  justice  is  done 
to  his  virtues,  his  fidelity,  and  his  humor;  but 
his  mangled  distortions  of  our  English  speech 
are  not  so  magnified  as  to  overshadow  everything 
else.  It  is  not  dialect,  but  life  that  Mrs.  Harrison 
tries  to  give. 

"Far  down  the  winding  river  named  in  honor 
of  King  James  by  the  navigators  Newport  and 
Smith,  who  wrested  from  the  dusky  dwellers  on 
its  banks  an  earlier  right  to  call  it  for  their  sov- 
ereign King  Powhatan,  stands  an  old  brick  house, 
with  spreading  wings  and  airy  colonnades;  it  is 
a  type  of  the  bygones  of  Virginia's  aristocracy 
now  crumbling  to  sure  decay.  Surrounding  its 
lawns  and  rose  gardens  are  marshes  full  of 
game,  wheat  fields  and  tobacco  fields  still  ready 
to  answer  to  a  fructifying  touch,  tall  forests  of 
unbroken  shade.  Wars,  more  than  one,  and  In- 
dian massacres  and  frays,  have  swept  over  it  to 
leave  no  enduring  trace.  What  damage  the  cen- 
turies could  do,  Nature,  with  gentle  diligence,  has 
overlaid  with  moss,  with  grass,  with  bracken,  and 
with  innumerable  flowers."  These  are  the  open- 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  265 

ing  words  of  Mrs.  Harrison's  novel  "Flower  de 
Hundred :  the  Story  of  a  Virginia  Plantation/' 
published  in  1890 — one  of  the  best  pictures  yet 
drawn  of  upper-class  life  in  Virginia  before  and 
during  the  war.  There  may  have  been  better  and 
more  moving  stories  of  Virginia  life,  more  clear- 
ly individualized  types  of  character  drawn ;  but 
nowhere  is  there  a  more  faithful  transcript  of 
that  life  in  its  everyday  essentials  and  in  its 
extraordinary  possibilities  under  stress  and 
shock. 

"Flower  de  Hundred"  is  properly  called  "The 
Story  of  a  Virginia  Plantation/'  for  it  is  this 
that  Mrs.  Harrison  has  given,  not  merely  as  a 
background  for  certain  phases  of  Virginia  life, 
but  as  having  a  personal,  individual  life  of  its 
own.  The  Thockmortons  have  held  it  time  out 
of  mind  to  every  one  except  to  a  Virginian.  And 
what  more  could  be  said  o>f  a  boy  than  "he  was 
a  true  Thockmorton,  and  would  sit  worthily  in 
the  seat  of  his  fathers  and  do  his  duty  like  a  man." 
Col.  Richard  Thockmorton,  the  present  owner,  is 
a  representative  of  the  fine,  simple  manliness  of 
the  Colonel  Newcome  type,  the  conscious  loss  of 
which  makes  one  feel  a  sort  of  grudge  against 
the  war  for  making  it  but  a  memory.  Mr.  Nel- 
son Page  has  drawn  the  same  sort  of  man  in  Dr. 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

Gary  in  "R.ed  Rock."  It  is  almost  enough  to  say 
that  Col.  Thockmorton  is  a  Virginian. 

"Then  you  don't  mean  to  resist  the  Yankees 
when  they  come/'  said  one  discussing  with  him 
the  fast  approaching  war. 

"Why,  sir,  confound  you,  d'ye  think  a  man 
who's  fought  under  that  can  wish  to  fight  against 
it?"  cried  out  the  old  man,  stopping  short  and 
pointing  to  the  flag  that  hung  above  his  midship- 
man's sword  upon  the  wall.  "When  I  was  a  little 
chap,  pacing  the  decks  of  the  Constitution,  I  used 
to  watch  it  every  day  above  me,  and  think  of  the 
blood  shed  to  put  it  there — I  was  lifted  up  then 
and  there,  out  of  boyhood  into  man's  sense  of 
responsibility  and  honor." 

"But  suppose  your  State  goes  out  of  the 
Union,"  suggested  the  other,  with  a  half  smile. 
A  flush  mounted  to  the  Colonel's  forehead,  and 
deepened  the  brown  of  his  withered  cheeks. 

"Virginia!"  he  exclaimed  in  reverent  accents. 
"I  should  feel  as  if  my  mother  called  me  to  come 
to  her  in  her  need." 

With  a  delicate  but  sure  touch  Mrs.  Harrison 
gives  in  succession  every  phase  of  that  old  life, 
even  as  the  seasons  modify  and  color  it.  There 
is  the  sport-loving  clergyman  as  tutor  for  the 
boys,  and  the  French  governess  for  the  girls ; 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  267 

Cousin  Polly  with  her  cult  of  ancestry  and  mar- 
velous knowledge  of  the  bewildering  mysteries 
of  Virginia  cousinship ;  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms that  make  the  life  of  the  plantation — the 
Christmas  festivities;  boyhood  and  girlhood 
merging  into  college  days ;  the  mighty  upheaval 
of  the  war  bringing  out  'of  these  gentle  folk  the 
noble  heroisms  and  fine  ardors  that  make  them 
seem  much  greater  in  .their  defeat  and  poverty 
than  in  their  prosperity ;  and  finally  the  dark 
Richmond  days  of  siege  and  almost  daily  battle, 
and  the  jaunty  bravery  and  smiling,  unfaltering 
courage  with  which  both  men  and  women  sought 
to  make  them  brighter.  It  would  be  hard  to  find 
a  truer,  juster,  more  sympathetic  account  of  these 
days  than  is  found  in  the  pages  of  this  novel. 
Moreover,  the  story  as  a  whole  is  a  charming 
record  kept  by  the  heart  of  one  who  knew  those 
days,  the  peace  and  the  storm  of  them ;  who  knew 
antl  loved  the  men  and  the  women  who  were  a 
part  of  them ;  a  record,  too,  so  obviously  faithful 
to  actual  facts  as  to  produce  an  unfading  impres- 
sion of  real  scenes,  real  persons,  and  real  events. 

It  is  hard  to  know  into  what  class  to  place  "The 
Daughter  of  the  South/'  first  published  in  1892, 
and  republished  by  the  Century  Company  in  1899, 
together  with  other  short  stories  by  Mrs.  Harri- 


268  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

son.  The  title  would  indicate  that  it  should  be- 
long with  her  distinctively  Southern  work.  The 
truth  is,  it  is  unique :  an  intense  bit  of  New  Or- 
leans Creole  life,  thrown  by  the  upheaval  of  the 
war  to  work  itself  out  under  Parisian  environ- 
ment during  the  palmy  days  of  the  Second  Em- 
pire. Mrs.  Harrison  has  done  no  better  piece  of 
work.  It  is  so  clean-cut,  so  delicately  polished,  so 
economical  in  its  details,  that  it  reminds  the 
French  of  their  own  fine  art  of  telling  a  short 
story.  M.  Ariste  Excoffon  has  translated  it  into 
French  under  the  title  of  Fille  de  Sud. 

Mrs.  Harrison's  next  novel  was  evidently  the 
fruit  of  her  historical  studies.  "The  Son  of  the 
Old  Dominion"  (1897)  deals  with  times  and  con- 
ditions immediately  preceding  the  Revolution. 
Washington  himself,  well  drawn,  is  one  of  the 
characters,  and  around  him  are  gathered  the  fa- 
mous Virginians  who  with  tongue  and  pen  were 
just  laying  the  foundations  of  the  republic — Jef- 
ferson, the  Randolphs,  Pendleton,  Mason,  Patrick 
Henry,  and  the  Lees.  The  spirit  and  temper 
with  which  these  men  wrought,  their  loyalty  to 
king  and  established  government,  their  deeper 
loyalty  to  the  high  principle  of  self-government ; 
the  gathering  of  the  burgesses,  the  debates  and 
discussions,  public  and  private;  the  strong,  fierce 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  269 

current  of  excitement  boiling  beneath  the  court- 
liness and  splendor  of  social  life,  beneath  the 
amusements  of  town  and  of  plantation,  are 
faithfully  represented  through  the  medium  of  the 
quaint,  old-fashioned  speech  of  our  fathers. 

Into  this  historical  background,  and  moved  by 
the  currents  of  the  nation's  early  days,  are  placed 
characters  that  are  both  individual  and  real.  Col. 
Hugh  Poythress  is  a  Colonial  Col.  Thock- 
morton  ("Flower  de  Hundred"),  and  is  a  fine 
type  of  the  Tory;  not  the  despised,  traitorous 
monster  usually  drawn  by  our  rabid  American 
Whiggism,  but  the  representative  of  a  large  class 
to  whom  justice  has  never  been  done  in  our  his- 
tory— a  class  that  in  all  sincerity  stood  loyally 
with  the  king  to  the  end,  and  after  the  fortunes 
of  war  went  against  them,  left  the  colony  to  take 
up  life  in  England.  Mrs.  Poythress  and  her  two 
daughters — Letty,  whose  affections  and  interest 
go  with  the  English  captain  and  his  cause;  and 
May,  who,  through  a  long  misunderstanding,  re- 
mains loyal  to  Rolfe  Poythress  and  his  American 
cause — hold  one's  attention  throughout  the  story 
because  they  seem  naturally  a  part  of  the  life 
and  conditions  described  by  the  author.  Rolfe 
Poythress,  the  hero,  brought  up  under  the  eye 
of  Washington,  is  a  noble  product  of  the  Eng- 


270  MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON. 

lishman  transplanted  to  new  conditions  in  Amer- 
ica ;  while  in  contrast  with  him  is  given  with  equal 
fidelity,  it'  not  with  equal  sympathy,  Capt.  Flow- 
er, the  English  soldier,  himself  a  representative 
of  what  is  best  in  old  England.  Both  are  of  the 
same  stock,  but  with  different  aims  and  duties. 
But  aside  from  an  essential  difference  in  char- 
acters, this  novel  differs  from  all  others  by  Mrs. 
Harrison  in  several  important  respects.  The  first 
is  the  open-air  impression  which  it  makes.  It  is 
as  if  we  are  out  of  doors  almost  always — in  the 
broad,  free  woods ;  and  not  the  least  of  the  charm 
of  the  book  comes  from  the  invigorating  fresh- 
ness of  woodland  life  and  adventure.  Of  course 
in  "Flower  de  Hundred"  there  is  the  breath  of 
the  woodland,  but  there  it  is  only  occasional ;  here 
one  knows  it  to  be  a  part  of  the  very  life  of  the 
story.  Then  again,  this  novel  differs  from  the 
others  in  having  a  genuine,  intriguing  villain  in 
the  Earl  of  Avenel,  and  also  in  having  a  quite 
complicated  plot.  And  so  the  story  moves  for- 
ward in  the  gradual  unraveling  of  a  mystery,  in 
which  the  rightful  heir  to  a  great  estate  in  En- 
gland has  been  kidnapped  as  an  infant  and  carried 
to  the  colonies.  The  hero  of  the  story,  Rolfe 
Poythress,  the  manly  product  of  Virginia,  the 
son  of  the  Old  Dominion,  turns  out  to  be  the 


MRS.    BURTON    HARRISON.  27 1 

long  dispossessed  heir  to  an  earldom.  But  this 
he  surrenders  to  take  his  place  by  the  side  of 
Washington  in  the  Continental  army.  Not  only 
is  there  then  the  interest  of  a  well-developed  mys- 
tery,-but  the  story  has  a  brisker  movement  than 
the  others.  The  effective  handling  of  Indian  up- 
risings and  of  battles  with  them,  of  captures  and 
almost  miraculous  escapes,  shows  Mrs.  Harri- 
son not  unskillful  in  the  art  of  merely  telling  a 
story. 

Mrs.  Harrison's  pen  is  still  busy.  Few  Amer- 
ican writers  are  better  known  to  the  readers  of 
our  leading  magazines.  Now  she  gives  us  an 
historical  sketch,  then  a  novel  of  New  York  so- 
cial life,  and  again  it  is  a  tender  bit  of  the  Old 
South. 


MISS  GRACE  ELIZABETH  KING. 

BY    HENRY    N.    SNYDER. 

IT  is  not  often  that  the  modern  literary  a'rtist 
goes  away  fro-m  home  for  his  subjects.  The 
things  that  lie  closest  at  hand  appeal  to  him  most. 
This  has  been  especially  the  method  of  those  at 
the  South  who  since  1870  have  been  making 
what  is  called  "Southern  Literature."  Clearly 
and  frankly  have  they  looked  at  Southern  life  and 
conditions,  and  with  equal  clearness  and  frank- 
ness have  reported  what  they  have  seen.  This 
attitude  toward  life,  this  reporting  of  the  things  of 
actual  sight  and  sense — things  which  are  often 
vital  with  the  intimacies  of  real  experience — have 
given  to  their  work  the  impression  of  absolute 
sincerity,  that  quality  which  after  all  must  lie  at 
the  basis  of  every  effective  piece  of  art. 

All  of  this,  which  has  been  said  generally, 
may  be  said  with  special  emphasis  of  the  work  of 
Miss  Grace  King.  In  the  introduction  to  her 
"New  Orleans :  the  Place  and  People,"  she  raises 
the  question  as  to  which  is  the  better  guarantee 
of  truth,  the  eye  or  the  heart.  "Perhaps,  when 
one  speaks  of  one's  native  place,  neither  is  trust- 
worthy. Is  either  even  trustworthy  when  di- 
(272) 


MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING.  273 

reeled  by  love  ?  Does  not  the  birthplace  like  the 
mother,  or  with  the  mother,  implicate  both  eye 
and  heart  into  partiality  even  from  birth?  And 
this  in  spite  of  intelligence,  nay,  of  common  sense 
itself  ?"  This  quotation  at  once  gives  us  the  point 
of  view  and  spirit  of  one  who  to-day  is  the  most 
representative  voice  of  quaint,  picturesque,  ro- 
mantic New  Orleans — a  voice,  too,  it  must  be  in- 
sisted, which  does  not  speak  merely  concerning 
this  Paris  of  the  new  world,  but  a  voice  which 
is  so  sincere  that  it  somehow  impresses  one  as  the 
city  itself  speaking  its  own  message  in  its  own 
accent.  One  is  perfectly  sure,  therefore,  as  one 
reads  either  the  historical  or  fictional  work  of 
Miss  King's,  that  it  is  no  outsider  who  is  revealing 
the  various  phases  of  a  richly  colored  life — kalei- 
doscopic in  its  shifting  changes  to  a  superficial 
observer,  yet  in  its  central  heart  with  a  Gallic 
unity  all  its  own. 

Miss  Grace  Elizabeth  King  was  born  in  New 
Orleans  of  Scotch,  French,  English,  and  Irish  an- 
cestry, and  is  thus  one  more  illustration  of  talent 
coming  from  the  blending  of  races.  Her  first 
memories  of  the  old  city  are  of  its  undimmed 
glory  and  splendor,  when  its  life  was  rich  and 
abounding,  when  its  society  was  in  the  full  bloom 
of  its  Creole  beauty  and  charm.  Then  into  her 
18 


274       MISS  GRACE  ELIZABETH  KING. 

early  childhood  came  'the  horrors  of  the  Civil 
War,  bringing  bitter  memories,  with  the  inefface- 
able vision  of  the  violent  passing  of  old  condi- 
tions. New  Orleans,  the  beautiful,  the  beloved, 
was  crushed  and  humiliated  as  perhaps  no  other 
city.  The  various  events  in  this  humiliation  en- 
tered into  Miss  King's  experiences,  profoundly 
influencing  her  whole  nature  and  deepening, 
through  the  tragedy  of  its  life,  her  love  for  her 
native  city.  As  she  knew  her  city's  life  and  en- 
tered, so  to  speak,  into  its  experiences,  she  herself 
felt  that  she  must  keep  the  record  of  that  life  and 
of  those  experiences.  This  impulse  has  been 
quickened,  moreover,  by  the  consciousness  that 
the  record  has  not  been  fairly  kept ;  that  the  real 
life  of  her  people,  their  ideals  and  principles  of 
conduct,  have  been  misinterpreted  and  unjustly 
set  down ;  that  one  at  least,  with  a  charm  of  man- 
ner and  a  fineness  of  art  that  have  brought  to  him 
a  wide  audience,  has  seemed  to  write  not  in  love, 
and  if  he  has  not  actually  misrepresented  the 
Creole  side  of  New  Orleans  life,  has  perverted  it, 
among  other  things,  to  enforce  a  particular  social 
theory.  Then,  too,  as  one  of  the  inevitable  re- 
sults of  the  \var,  she  has  now  seen  new  standards 
swiftly  taking  the  place  of  the  old,  the  trans- 
formation of  the  quaint  old-world  city  (plus  an 


MISS   GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING.  275 

acquired  charm  which  the  old  world  did  not 
give)  into  a  humdrum,  commonplace  American 
city  with  strictly  commercial  ideals. — And  this 
again  has  quickened  her  iriipulse  to  write. 

Thus  from  the  very  nature  of  her  inspiration 
Miss  King's  work  will  be  historical  in  spirit, 
method,  and  aim.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  even 
that  part  of  her  fiction  which  does  not  deal  with 
confessedly  historical  themes,  from  its  fidelity  to 
fact  and  spirit,  from  the  evident  sincerity  with 
which  it  reproduces  local  color  and  atmosphere, 
seems  the  real  documents  of  her  city's  life.  One 
feels  beyond  doubt  as  one  reads  her  stories — 
"Monsieur  Motte,"  for  example — that  one  is  fol- 
lowing in  the  track  of  one  who  is  more  concerned 
with  producing  faithfully  an  impression  of  a  spe- 
cific phase  of  real  Creole  life  than  of  creating 
an  idealized  representation.  Miss  King  herself 
is  too  vitally  of  the  life  she  describes,  and  there- 
fore too  thoroughly  representative  of  it,  for  her 
to  make  it  otherwise. 

This  bent  toward  history  on  the  part  of  Miss 
King  was  further  accentuated,  and  we  may  say 
developed  and  trained,  by  the  influence  of  Charles 
Gayarre,  the  distinguished  historian  of  Louisiana. 
To  him  she  dedicates  her  "History  of  New  Or- 
leans," at  its  close  speaking  thus  of  him:  "As  a 


276       MISS  GRACE  ELIZABETH  KING. 

youth  he  consecrated  his  first  ambitions  to  her 
(New  Orleans)  ;  through  manhood  he  devoted 
his  pen  to  her;  old,  suffering,  bereft  by  misfor- 
tune of  his  ancestral  heritage  and  the  fruit  of  his 
prime's  vigor  and  industry,  he  yet  stood  ever  her 
courageous  knight,  to  defend  her  against  the  as- 
persions of  strangers  and  the  slanders  of  traitors. 
Thus  it  is  that  one  beholden  to  him  for  a  long 
life's  endowment  of  affection, help, and  encourage- 
ment judges  it  meet  that  a  chronicle  begun  under 
his  auspices,  to  which  he  contributed  so  richly 
from  his  memory,  and  of  whose  success  he  was 
so  tenderly  solicitous,  should  end  as  it  began,  with 
a  tribute  to  his  memory."  With  this  quotation, 
which  evidently  commits  her  to  the  spirit  and 
method  of  Gayarre,  it  seems  best  to  take  up  her 
distinctively  historical  writings. 

As  the  efficient  Secretary  of  the  Louisiana  His- 
torical Society,  Miss  King  had  access  to  many  of 
the  original  sources  of  the  history  of  French  and 
Spanish  America  in  the  South  and  Southwest. 
We  all  know  what  an  alluring  fascination  there 
is  about  this  history.  Witness  how  it  has  drawn 
Irving,  Prescott,  Gayarre,  Cable,  and  Maurice 
Thompson.  The  raw  material  of  it  is  so  romantic, 
so  strenuously  alive,  so  fraught  with  marvelous 
adventures  by  flood  and  field,  so  epic  in  the  char- 


MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING.  277 

acter  of  the  heroic  figures  that  struggle  and 
achieve  in  it,  so  beguiling  in  the  soft,  languorous 
beauty  of  a  semi-tropical  climate,  and  in  a  natural 
background  which  seems  the  fitting  environment 
for  the  life  therein  recorded,  that  its  sober  truth 
is  glowing  with  the  colors  od:  the  strangest  and 
most  moving  fiction.  Miss  King's  investigations 
into  these  sources  of  Latin  discovery  and  settle- 
ment in  the  South  and  Southwest  have  borne 
fruit  in  four  books,  which  represent  a  distinct  con- 
tribution to  the  historical  literature  of  this  section  : 
"Jean  Baptiste  Le  Moyne  Sieur  de  Bienville," 
1892 ;  "New  Orleans :  the  Place  and  the  People," 
1896;  "De  Soto  in  the  Land  of  Florida,"  1898; 
and  in  collaboration  with  Professor  Ficklen,  of 
Tulane  University,  a  "School  History  of  Louisi- 
ana/' which  has  been  adopted  as  a  text-book  in 
the  schools  of  the  State.  To  this  list  should  be 
added  a  scholarly  and  readable  article  which  ap- 
peared in  Harper's  Magazine  (October,  1894) 
on  "Iberville  and  the  Mississippi." 

The  biography  of  Bienville,  real  founder  and 
first  governor  of  Louisiana,  belongs  to  the  "Mak- 
ers of  America"  series,  published  by  Dodd,  Mead, 
and  Company.  In  her  search  for  what  is  authentic 
in  her  sources,  in  a  manifest  effort  to  sift  facts 
and  in  her  fidelity  to  them,  Miss  King  displays  the 


2'7&  MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 

spirit  and  method  of  the  painstaking  historian.  At 
the  same  time  she  has  given  a  quite  interesting 
record  of  the  achievements,  the  struggles,  the  dis- 
appointments of  this  Canadian  nation-builder  in 
the  South.  The  book  has  the  charm  of  easily 
moving  narrative,  with  the  clear,  definite  descrip- 
tion of  surroundings,  and  just  enough  quotation 
from  old  documents  to  bring- out  vividly  the  life 
and  conditions  of  which  Bienville  was  so  largely 
a  part. 

But  we  shall  find  Miss  King  really  at  her  best 
in  keeping  the  record  of  her  native  city  in  "New 
Orleans:  the  Place  and  the  People."  Her  orig- 
inality in  point  of  view,  her  special  sense  for  what 
is  picturesque,  and  her  sure  insight  into  the  es- 
sential character  of  her  city  are  at  once  seen  in 
her  personification  of  it  as  a  Parisian  woman : 
"New  Orleans  is  not  a  Puritan  mother  nor  a  hardy 
Western  pioneeress,  if  the  term  be  permitted.  She 
is,  on  the  contrary,  simply  a  Parisian,  who  came 
two  centuries  ago  to  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi 
—partly  out  of  curiosity  for  the  new  world,  partly 
out  of  ennui  for  the  old — who,  'Ma  foi!'  as  she 
would  say  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  has  ' 
never  cared  to  return  to  her  mother  country." 
From  this  one  is  quite  sure  that  Miss  King's  his- 
tory is  to  be  no  mere  dry  record  of  the  founding 


MISS   GRACE   ELIZABETH    KING.  279 

and  development  of  an  impersonal  trading  mart ; 
but  it  is  an  exceedingly  fascinating  person  with 
whom  we  are  to  be  brought  into  contact — fas- 
cinating not  only  for  herself,  but  for  her  experi- 
ences, which  have  been  as  numerous  as  the.  days 
of  her  history  and  as  strange  as  the  shifting  mys- 
teries of  her  girdling  river.  With  the  artist's 
way  of  seeing  things  from  the  inside,  with  a  power 
of  handling  facts  so  as  to  make  them  freshly  sug- 
gestive and  vitally  alive,  with  a  love  for  the  city 
that  looks  at  its  foibles  through  a  haze  of  tender 
sentiment  and  will  let  her  set  down  naught  in 
malice,  and  with  a  picturesque  quality  of  style 
without  a  commonplace  element  in  it,  she  accom- 
plishes her  purpose — that  of  making  the  city  a 
person  with  a  distinctive  character  all  its  own. 

One's  interest  in  the  record  never  flags.  In- 
deed, one  is  apt  to  forget  that  it  is  history  and 
not  fiction  that  one  is  reading.  This  illusion  is 
due  to  several  things :  first  of  all,  there  is  in  Miss 
King's  manner  the  charm  of  a  personal  flavor 
essentially  feminine ;  there  is  present,  too,  a  pleas- 
ing humor  playing  along  the  shadows  in  the  old 
city's  life,  and  a  quiet  satire  for  its  weaknesses 
and  foibles.  With  the  novelist's  instinct  for  a 
good  story  and  for  the  concrete  realities  of  char- 
acter, she  makes  her  history  fairly  alive  with  hu- 


280 


MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 


man  beings,  whose  deeds  and  adventures  bring 
them  into  fellowship  with  the  tribe  of  Ulysses 
—La  Salle,  d'Iberville,  Bienville,  De  la  Tour, 
O'Reilly,  and  La  Fitte ;  there  is,  moreover,  a  plen- 
tiful -display  of  contemporary  anecdotes  to  give 
the  charm  and  spice  which  contemporary  gossip 
always  adds  to  the  soberer  currents  of  history. 
In  addition  to  all  this,  she  so  handles  her  material 
as  to  keep  vividly  before  the  reader  the  stir  and 
movement  of  the  rapidly  shifting  life  of  the  city- 
its  swift  changes  back  and  forth  from  French  to 
Spanish,  and  from  Spanish  to  French  rule,  ac- 
cording to  the  whims  or  the  cupidity  of  the 
reigning  monarchs,  or  according  to  the  for- 
tunes of  European  wars;  the  city's  struggles 
with  the  Indians,  and  the  quarrels  among  the 
citizens  within  its  own  gates;  the  coming  of 
the  homespun  American  pioneers,  those  ad- 
vance couriers  of  Anglo-Saxon  civilization;  the 
struggle  for  supremacy  in  business  life  between 
the  energetic  Yankee  and  the  easy-going,  unpro- 
gressive  Creole ;  the  swarming  disasters  that  now 
and  again  came  to  the  city — epidemics,  wars, 
floods,  and  financial  reverses,  and  its  buoyant  Gal- 
lic rise  out  of  them ;  the  terrible  days  of  Recon- 
struction ;  the  famous  fourteenth  of  September ; 
society  with  its  dark  quadroon  fringe,  with  its 


MISS  GRACE  ELIZABETH  KING.       281 

balls,  its  racings,  its  duels — all  are  told  with  a 
picturesqueness  of  style  in  full  keeping  with  the 
same  quality  in  the  events  which  she  narrates. 
On  the  whole,  then,  one  may  say  that  Miss  King- 
has  told  the  story  of  this  romantic  old  city  so  en- 
gagingly as  to  arouse  our  love  for  it,  aliens  though 
we  be ;  and  the  result  is  that  there  is  in  our  hearts 
the  pain  of  actual  bereavement  when  we  come  to 
realize  that  its  witchery,  its  quaint  foreign  air, 
must  soon  vanish  in  "the  pace  after  new  things." 
In  1898  Miss  King  turned  from  the  story  of 
French  conquest  to  that  of  Spanish  conquest :  "De 
Soto  in  the  Land  of  Florida."  Here  again,  by 
means  of  the  methods  already  indicated,  she 
catches  the  true  spirit  of  the  conditions  which  she 
is  representing,  and  her  narrative  really  makes  us 
one  with  that  splendid  procession  of  Spanish  Cav- 
aliers moving  like  the  gorgeous  figures  of  a  pic- 
tured panorama  toward  the  new  world.  On 
they  pass  to  their  toils  and  their  wars,  invited 
ever  by  the  alluring  mystery  of  fountains  of 
youth  and  of  fabulous  treasures  far  inland.  They 
may  not  stay,  and  so  they  go,  experiencing  those 
marvelous  adventures  that  make  their  own  con- 
temporary records  seem  so  like  the  fictions  of 
some  Spanish  Munchausen.  But  projecting  out 
from  the  other  figures  in  this  wonderful  story  of 


282  MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 

Spanish  conquest  and  discovery  stands  Hernan- 
do  de  Soto,  the  heroic  type  of  them  all,  with  his 
unfailing  gallantry,  his  never-faltering  courage 
and  unwavering  persistence.  The  account  of  his 
life,  from  the  time  he  left  Spain  to  his  dramatic 
burial  in  the  great  river,  is  given  with  Miss  King's 
usual  force  and  effectiveness.  There  is  the  power 
of  selecting  what  is  characteristic  in  her  mate- 
rial, the  manifest  effort  to  retain  the  very  spirit  of 
romance  with  which  the  adventures  themselves 
are  surrounded,  and  the  skill  to  clothe  her  mate- 
rial in  a  picturesque  garb,  rich  in  fitting  color  and 
vivid  with  contemporary  speech  and  anecdote. 

The  art  of  the  historian  and  the  art  of  the  nov- 
elist are  not  widely  sundered.  Indeed,  the  former 
can  only  expect  his  work  to  live  as  he  borrows 
from  the  latter  his  power  of  emotionalizing  truth, 
and  of  giving  to  it  through  the  imagination  a  con- 
crete vividness.  So  Miss  King's  historical  ven- 
tures are,  on  this  account,  readable  to  begin  with, 
and  are  effective  in  restoring  past  conditions  and 
in  producing  the  impression  of  life.  The  same 
qualities  are  intensified  in  the  three  or  four  vol- 
umes in  which  the  novelist  has  recorded  life  as 
she  saw  it. 

Dedicated  to  Mr.  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  in 
recognition  of  what  he  had  done  to  encourage 


MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING.  283 

SouthcTn  writers,  "Monsieur  Motte"  came  out  in 
1888.  It  is  a  strikingly  original  story  in  four 
parts — not  only  original  in  the  decidedly  individ- 
ual quality  of  the  style  and  method,  but  espe- 
cially so  in  the  choice  of  motif.  A  little  Creole  girl 
at  St.  Denis  School,  New  Orleans,  getting  ready 
for  her  graduation,  has  almost  every  flutter  of  her 
dear  little  heart  recorded  as  she  is  expecting  the 
presence  of  her  uncle,  Monsieur  Motte — the  bene- 
factor wrho,  since  a  tragedy  of  the  war  had  left 
her  a  dependent  orphan,  had  been  supplying  her 
every  need.  But  during  all  the  years  of  her  life 
she  has  never  seen  Monsieur  Motte,  the  medium 
of  communication  between  them  being  Marcelite, 
the  quadroon  nurse  who  had  received  her  from 
her  dying  mother's  arms.  This  uncle,  however, 
this  gracious  benefactor  whom  she  is  expecting  to 
see  at  her  graduation,  and  to  whose  home  she  is 
expecting  to  be  taken  as  daughter,  is  but  a  fiction 
created  out  of  the  fidelity,  the  sacrifice,  the  abound- 
ing love  of  this  ex-slave  who  has  taken  a  mother's 
and  a  father's  place  to  this  \vaif  of  the  war.  "The 
viurse,  a  slave  no  longer,  since  she  had  fled  to 
this  city  in  possession  of  the  emancipationists, 
took  the  child  to  herself  and  nursed  it — nursed  it 
as  the  Virgin  Mary  must  have  nursed  her  heav- 
en-sent babe ;  nursed  it  on  her  knees,  in  abnega- 


284  MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 

tion,  in  adoration ;  lodging  it  in  her  room,  which 
became,  not  a  room,  but  a  sanctuary ;  couching  it 
in  her  own  bed,  which  became  an  altar,  feeding  it, 
tending  it,  as  imagination  can  conceive  a  passion- 
ate heart  in  a  black  skin  under  the  ghostly* super- 
vision of  dead  parents."  And  this  pouring  otit  of 
a  negro's  love  upon  Marie  Modeste,  the  child  of 
her  dead  mistress,  is  the  theme  of  the  story, — 
Marcelite,  freedwoman  before  the  law  of  man, 
but  bondwoman  still  under  God's  higher  law  of 
love.  "It  was  not  Madame  Gomfilleau,  but  Mar- 
celite, who  walked  behind  the  bride  that  night  to 
the  altar,  for  so  Marie  Modeste  had  commanded. 
It  was  not  to  Madame  Gomfilleau,  but  to  Marce- 
lite, that  the  bride  turned  for  her  first  blessing 
after  the  ceremony." 

Along  the  deep,  strong  current  of  this  ex-slave's 
love  there  ripples  and  sparkles  and  foams  Creole 
life  just  after  the  war.  The  Creoles  themselves— 
their  manners,  their  small  talk,  their  loves  and 
their  hates,  the  breaking  of  the  nouveau  riche  into 
their  charmed  circle — are  represented  with  fidel- 
ity even  to  the  most  trivial  details.  Indeed,  when 
one  comes  to  estimate  "Monsieur  Motte,"  one 
must  say  that  its  chief  defect  is  found  in  this  mul- 
tiplicity of  details.  However  true  they  may  be  to 


MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING.  285 

Creole  life,  they  confuse  and  blur  our  impres- 
sions as  to  characters  and  events. 

This  criticism,-  however,  cannot  in  justice  be 
made  of  the  series  of  short  stories  which,  begin- 
ning in  1888,  have  appeared  from  time  to  time 
in  Harper's  Magazine,  and  have  since  been  pub- 
lished under  the  title  of  "Stories  of  a  Time  and 
Place."  They  are  clear-cut,  and  produce  per- 
fectly definite  impressions  of  character  and  con- 
ditions. In  many  of  them  Miss  King  shows  a 
bent  toward  the  somber  and  the  grotesque  that 
not  un frequently  suggests  Poe.  There  is  pres- 
ent also  a  mocking  humor  which  now  and  again 
takes  on  a  kind  of  acid  tang  and  becomes  satire ; 
a  keen  sensitiveness  to  the  poignant  cry  of  a 
woman's  heart;  and  a  steady  vision  of  the  con- 
trasts of  life,  with  the  power  of  representing  them 
in  sharply  defined  colors.  "Madrilene,  or  the 
Festival  of  the  Dead,"  is  the  most  characteristic 
one  of  the  collection,  for  in  it  are  found  at  their 
best  the  qualities  just  named. 

In  the  Century  Magazine,  in  1892,  Miss  King 
began  that  series  of  short  stories  which  bears  the 
general  title  of  "Balcony  Stories."  They  are 
mostly  condensed  tragedies,  tremulous  with  the 
pathos  of  broken,  blighted  hopes,  suffused  with  a 
quaint  sort  of  humor  that  not  unfrequently  im- 


286  MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 

presses  one  as  if  the  author  were  laughing  at  the 
pitiless  strivings  of  her  characters  in  the  meshes 
that  fate  and  circumstance  weave  for  them.  But 
withal,  these  sketches  are  intense,  palpitating  bits 
of  human  life;  and  beneath  the  French  phrases, 
the  merely  local  atmosphere  of  Creole  Louisiana, 
the  quaint  old-world  surroundings,  one  hears  the 
quite  familiar  beat  of  the  common  heart  of  man, 
with  its  petty  aims,  its  pride,  its  thwarted  loves, 
its  efforts  to  be  brave'  in  its  decay  and  defeat,  and 
its  almost  divine  possibilities  of  noble  ardors  and 
heroisms,  as  in  the  case  of  the  "little  mammy"  in 
the  story  entitled  "A  Crippled  Hope,"  an  ex- 
quisitely tender  story  of  a  slave  woman. 

"Chevalier  Alain  de  Triton/'  which  may  prop- 
erly be  called  an  essay  at  historical  fiction,  came 
out  in  the  Chautauquan  in  1891.  It  is  a  story 
of  Louisiana  in  the  making.  The  Coureurs  de 
Bois,  those  pioneers  of  New  France  in  America, 
hunt  and  wander  through  the  primeval  wilder- 
ness, draw  their  swift  boats  up  and  down  the 
-great  river,  or  in  and  out  through  the  myste- 
rious recesses  of  sleeping  bayou.  But  in  spite  of 
the  possibilities  of  the  material  in  the  direction 
of  a  thrilling  story,  it  hardly  deserves  great  praise 
as  an  effective  piece  of  story-writing.  There  is 
little  in  the  development  and  working  out  of  the 


MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING.  287 

main  plot  to  hold  one,  and,  indeed,  the  interest 
in  the  chief  character  is  rather  faint.  He  is  a  trifle 
hazy  in  outline,  and  is  but  a  vague  type  at  best 
of  the  adventurous  spirit  of  those  days. 

Another  defect  in  the  story  is  that  there  is  too 
much  comment  upon  the  characters,  shrewd  and 
clever  as  it  is.  The  author  is  her  own  chorus, 
and  interprets  and  generalizes  as  if  she  feared  her ' 
readers  might  not  understand.  It  is  true  that  these 
comments — frequently  of  the  nature  of  rich  epi- 
grams, and  full  of  insight  into  human  hearts  and 
of  the  wisdom  of  experience — furnish  one  ele- 
ment in  the  charm  of  all  of  Miss  King's  work. 
Yet  in  "Chevalier  Alain  de  Triton"  they  do  not 
seem  to  come  naturally  out  of  the  current  and 
conditions  of  the  story ;  they  retard  its  movement 
and  withdraw  our  interest.  Then,  again,  one  is 
apt  to  think  that  here  Miss  King  is  more  of  the 
antiquarian  than  the  novelist,  with  her  pen  dipped 
in  love  for  her  old  city.  It  is  the  scenes,  the  in- 
stitutions, the  events  of  the  city  that  engage  and 
hold  her  interest — not  so  much  as  the  background 
for  the  story,  but  as  detached  from  it  and  inter- 
esting for  their  own  sake.  For  example,  she  tan- 
talizes the  reader  by  giving  the  antiquities  of  the 
convent  of  the  Ursulines,  when  his  interest  is  in 


MISS   GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 

that  waif  of  Alain's  whom  his  sister  Odalise  had 
committed  to  the  care  of  the  nuns. 

But  if  these  are  faults,  we  have,  to  offset  them, 
that  same  distinction  and  individuality  of  style 
which  lifts  out  of  the  commonplace  everything 
that  Miss  King  writes ;  the  character  of  Odalise, 
a  perfectly  clear-cut  type  of  the  pietist  developed 
by  Latin  Christianity,  whose  very  heart,  because 
of  its  calm,  unceasing  contemplation  of  heavenly 
things,  is  really  dried  up  as  to  human  interests 
and  sympathies:  the  beautifully  developed  epi- 
sode of  the  awakening  of  Pieta's  love — Pieta,  the 
waif  of  Alain — for  the  Parisian  emigrant,  ex- 
dandy,  and  gallant.  This  episode  of  Pieta — 
reared  first  in  a  convent,  then  fed  by  Odalise  upon 
saintly  aphorisms — is  a  charming  idyl.  It  shows 
a  delicate  touch,  an  unfaltering  artistic  restraint, 
a  subtle,  sympathetic  insight  into  unspoiled  hearts 
when  the  master  passion  is  dawning,  and  a  sure 
and  moving  dramatic  power.  The  climax  of  the 
episode — the  night  ride  across  the  river  during  the 
storm,  Pieta's  concealment  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  the  revelation  of  herself  and  her  love  as  she 
follows  Mene  into  the  house — has  in  it  every  ele- 
ment of  unforced  dramatic  power. 

Then  in  this  story,  as  indeed  in  all  her  work. 
Miss  King  has  the  poet's  sure  and  sensitive  feel- 


MISS   GRACE   ELIZABETH    KING.  289 

ing  for  and  vision  of  nature.  First,  it  is  the  great 
panorama  of  nature's  mere  beauty  and  glory  that 
appeals  so  mightily  to  the  artist's  eye  that  she 
must  record  in  one  way  or  another  what  she  sees. 
This  beauty  and  glory  our  author  leaves  on  many 
a  page,  so  that  one  would  fain  linger  as  soft  days 
and  melting  moonlights  gleam  and  shimmer 
across  the  landscape  of  that  strangely  beautiful 
world.  But  it  is  not  only  the  beauty  and  tjie 
glory  that  Miss  King  has  seen  and  recorded.  She 
has  gone  deeper  and  made  nature  the  revealer, 
the  interpreter  of  the  emotions  and  special  expe- 
riences of  her  characters,  with  the  result  that  there 
are  harmony  and  correspondence,  a  sympathetic 
blending  of  the  heart  and  soul  of  man  with  the 
moods  and  shifting  scenes  of  that  great  world 
upon  which  he  moves. 

In  the  twelve  years  in  which  she  has  been  writ- 
ing Miss  King  has  given  to  the  public  "Monsieur 
Motte,"  "Earthlings"  (a  short  novel  now  out  of 
print),  "Stories  of  a  Time  and  Place,"  "Chevalier 
Alain  de  Triton,"  "Balcony  Stories,"  "Bienville," 
"New  Orleans:  the  Place  and  the  People,"  and 
"De  Soto  in  the  Land  of  Florida."  This  is  not  a 
long  list,  to  be  sure,  yet  it  is  the  work  of  one  who 
has  no  desire  for  mere  publicity,  no  desire  for  a 
fictitious  fame  due  either  to  prolific  writing1  or  un- 


290  MISS    GRACE    ELIZABETH    KING. 

merited  praise.  It  is  rather  the  work  of  one  who 
is  inclined  to  underestimate  her  work  on  account 
of  her  high  ideals  of  what  literature  should  be, 
But  the  evident  sincerity  and  conscientiousness 
of  it  all,  the  presence  in  it  of  the  charm  of  per- 
sonality, an  individual  quality  of  style,  a  sure 
insight  into  Louisiana  history,  and  the  power  to 
reproduce  its  picturesque  and  quaint  foreign  at- 
mosphere ;  an  evident  sympathy  with  the  life 
and  experiences  of  her  people  that  makes  her 
their  representative,  their  voice ;  the  definite  im- 
pression of  a  certain  refinement  in  her  art,  an  im- 
pression, moreover,  that  this  art  is  controlled  by 
ideals  that  will  not  let  her  use  it  merely  to  catch 
the  popular  ear  and  taste — all  have  brought  to 
Miss  King,  if  not  a  wide  circle  of  readers,  certain- 
ly one  that  is  thoroughly  appreciative.  This  cir- 
cle, too,  is  not  confined  to  her  own  land  and  sec- 
tion. She  is  known  and  recognized  abroad,  some 
of  her  stories  having  been  translated  into  French, 
German,  and  Russian.  Madame  Blanc  has 
thought  her  work  worthy  of  a  review  in  the  Re- 
vue des  Deu.r  Mondes.  In  this  review  she  re- 
veals what  Miss  King  is  in  relation  to  Vier  people 
and  surroundings — their  most  typical,  represent- 
ative voice. 


SAMUEL  MINTURN  PECK. 

BY    WILLIAM    HENRY    HULME. 

IT  has  often  been  remarked  by  writers  and  lec- 
turers of  recent  years  that  the  present  genera- 
tion of  readers  cares  little  for  poetry.  And  cer- 
tain alarmists  would  have  us  believe  that  even 
the  great  productions  of  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Wordsworth,  and  Tennyson  have  increasingly 
fewer  readers.  These  same  alarmists  have  al- 
ready begun  scolding  like  shrewish  old  women 
in  their  Lives  of  Milton  "and  the  like,"  because 
they  seem  to  descry  a  manifest  falling  off  in 
readers  of  "Paradise  Lost,"  and  are  offering  all 
sorts  of  remedies  in  the  way  of  dogmatic  judg- 
ments and  opinions  of  their  own.  In  the  face 
of  all  this  needless  furore,  let  the  real  poet  arise 
from  the  North,  South,  East,  or  West,  and  he  is 
sure  of  a  hearty,  enthusiastic  reception  from  a 
host  of  readers  and  lovers  of  poetry. 

Among  the  younger  generation  of  poets  in  the 
South,  Samuel  Minturn  Peck  and  Madison  Ca- 
wein  have  probably  been  more  generally  read 
and  admired  than  any  others.  They  are  both 
by  birth  and  training  products  of  the  New  South. 
Both  have  made  their  way  to  the  front  rank  of 


292  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

Southern  writers  during  the  last  fifteen  years. 
They  are  in  many  respects  representatives  of 
opposite  tendencies  and  tastes  in  poetry.  Peck- 
excels  especially  in  light,  airy  lyrics,  whose  lan- 
guage, rhythm,  and  music  are  as  a  rule  faultless. 
His  muse  has  not  so  far  been  especially  produc- 
tive. His  poems  leave  the  impression  of  unpre- 
meditated grace  and  beauty  clothed  in  the  most 
refined  and  simple  language.  Every  word  seems 
to  have  been  chosen  with  the  greatest  care — 
with  the  ear  of  the  poet'  eagerly  bent  to  catch 
hidden  harmonies.  There  is  no  trace  of  careless- 
ness or  extravagance  in  the  uses  of  language. 

Cawein,  on  the  other  hand,  makes  the  impres- 
sion of  a  writer  who  is  possessed  of  an  inex- 
haustible store  of  poetic  images  and  words. 
There  is,  especially  among  his  earlier  poems, 
everywhere  manifest  almost  too  great  a  pro- 
fusion of  both  words  and  images ;  and  sometimes 
too  little  care  in  their  selection.  We  frequently 
miss  the  exquisite  music  ever  present  in  Peck's 
poems.  But  Cawein's  compositions  are  infused 
with  a  strength,  a  kind  of  rugged  vigor,  which 
Peck  rarely  shows.  His  poetic  range  is  much 
broader.  He  is  almost  equally  great  in  narra- 
tive, descriptive,  and  purely  lyric  poetry.  Peck's 
lyrics  never  assume  a  morose,  pessimistic  tone,— 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  ^93 

they  are  ever  happy  and  light  and  gay.  Cawein 
is  given  to  seeing  the  darker  side  of  life,  but  his 
poetry  cannot  be  called  pessimistic.  He  fre- 
quently seems  to  be  seeking  for  grotesque  phases 
of  life,  which  he  describes  in  grotesque  language. 
Although  the  younger  man  of  the  two,  Cawein's 
published  volumes  outnumber  those  of  Peck 
almost  four  to  one. 

Samuel  Minturn  Peck  is  a  native  of  Alabama ; 
and  Alabama  birds,  and  flowers,  and  girls  are 
ever  present  in  his  poems  and  stories.  He  is 
in  every  poetic  sentiment  and  feeling  truly  South- 
ern— almost  Alabamian.  Although  he  has  spent 
much  of  his  life  in  recent  years  in  New  York, 
the  Southern  note  is  as  prominent  in  his  latest 
as  in  his  earliest  volume.  While  his  poems  are 
distinctly  the  product  of  the  New  South  with 
its  hopes  and  aspirations  for  the  future,  he  is 
old  enough  in  years,  and  is  possessed  of  so  much 
sympathy  with  the  past,  that  he  is  in  his  person- 
ality an  interesting  connecting  link  between  the 
Old  and  the  New.  Again,  his  family  connections 
make  him  an  American  in  the  broadest  sense. 
Born  and  educated  in  the  South,  he  is  neverthe- 
less descended  from  Northern  parents.  His 
father  was  a  New  Yorker ;  his  mother  came  of 
sturdy  New  England  stock. 


294  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

"I  was  born/'  he  says  in  writing  recently  of 
his  early  life,  "in  the  house  where  I  now  live, 
one  mile  from  the  town  of  Tuskaloosa,  on  the 
fourth  day  of  November,  1854.  .  ...  My 
father,  E.  Wolsey  Peck,  was  born  in  Schoharie 
County,  New  York,  in  1799.  He  was  a  descend- 
ant of  one  of  three  brothers  who  came  from 
Wales  to  America  in  1638.  My  father's  grand- 
father and  two  of  his  uncles  fought  in  the  Revo- 
lutionary War.  My  father  read  law  in  the  office 
of  Judge  Sherwood,  the  distinguished  jurist, 
and  at  the  age  of  twenty-five  set  out  for  the 
Southwest  to  practice  his  profession.  (This  was 
in  the  year  1825.)  When  he  left  home  it  was 
his  intention  to  locate  in  New  Orleans,  but  he 
changed  his  mind  on  the  way,  and  stopped  at 
Elyton,  Alabama,  the  present  site  of  Birming- 
ham. After  practicing  law  at  Elyton  for  six 
years  or  more,  he  married  my  mother,  and 
shortly  afterwards  moved  to  Tuskaloosa,  which 
was  then  the  capital  of  the  State,  and  offered  a 
more  promising  field  for  a  lawyer.  .  .  . 

"My  mother,  Lucy  Lamb  Randall,  was  born 
at  Norwich,  Connecticut,  in  1808.  The  Randalls 
came  from  England  to  this  country  in  1640. 
When  my  mother  was  eighteen  years  old  my 
grandfather  and  grandmother,  with  mother  and 


SAML'KL    MINTURN    PECK.  295 

a  younger  brother,  moved  from  Connecticut  to 
Alabama  to  join  two  of  my  uncles  who  had  come 
South  a  few  years  before;  and  two  years  later 
my  mother  was  married  to  my  father/' 

Mr.  Peck  probably  inherited  his  literary  turn 
from  his  mother,  who,  he  says,  was  a  great 
reader  and  a  writer  of  charming  letters.  She 
was  extremely  witty,  "with  a  touch  of  sarcasm 
that  sometimes  leaves  a  sting."  His  father,  how- 
ever, cared  little  for  imaginative  literature. 

Mr.  Peck  is  "the  youngest  of  nine  children, 
four  of  whom  died  before  he  was  born."  His 
father  "owned  a  small  plantation  about  a  mile 
from  the  town  of  Tuskaloosa,"  and  his  birth- 
place seems  to  have  been  "a  typical  Southern 
home."  His  father  possessed  a  few  slaves,  who 
appear  to  have  been  a  constant  source  of  care 
for  his  mother.  Aside  from  this,  "slavery  lingers 
in  my  memory  as  a  very  agreeable  institution," 
he  tells  us,  "and  my  childhood's  home  was  a  most 
delightful  one.  There  were  slaves  everywhere 
at  beck  and  call,  carriages  and  saddle  horses,  and 
everything  to  make  life  charming.  Picture  to 
yourself  an  old  roomy  house  abounding  in  wide 
verandas,  situated  in  spacious  grounds,  and  em- 
bowered in  cedars,  mimosas,  myrtles,  and  water 
oaks,  with  an  old-fashioned  flower  garden  in 


296  SAMUEL    MINTURN    FECIv. 

front,  and  orchards  at  either  side,  and  negro 
dwellings  and  stables  scattered  in  the  rear.  There 
was  a  wilderness  of  roses,  honeysuckles,  jasmines, 
and  all  the  old-time  flowers.  On  both  sides  of 
the  door  were  frames  supporting  the  wild  yellow 
jasmine.  Climbing  roses  clustered  at  one  end 
of  the  veranda,  and  there  was  ivy  creeping  up 
the  front  of  the  house.  Bees  and  birds  were 
everywhere.  I  can  close  my  eyes  now  and  hear 
the  mocking  birds  and  see  the  wild  jasmine  bells 
lying  in  drifts  of  gold  in  the  grass:' 

Mr.  Peck  has  given  an  exquisite  description  of 
the  "old-fashioned  flower  garden"  in  his  charm- 
ing little  poem,  "An  Alabama  Garden :" 

Along  a  pine-clad  hill  it  lies, 
Overlooked  by  limpid  Southern  skies, 
A  spot  to  feast  a  fairy's  eyes, 

A  nook  for  happy  fancies. 
The  wild  bee's  mellow  monotone 
Here  blends  with  bird  notes  zephyr-blown, 
And  many  an  insect  voice  unknown 

The  harmony  enhances. 
The  rose's  shattered  splendor  flees 
With  lavish  grace  on  every  breeze, 
And  lilies  sway  with  flexile  ease 

Like  dryads  snowy-breasted; 
And  where  gardenias  drowse  between 
Rich  curving  leaves  of  glossy  green, 
The  cricket  strikes  his  tambourine, 

Amid  the  mosses  nested. 


SAMUEL  MINTURN  PECK.  297 

Here  down-flashed  myrtles  interlace, 
And  sifted  sunbeams  shyly  trace 
Frail  arabesques  whose  shifting  grace 

Is  wrought  of  shade  and  shimmer ; 
At  eventide  scents  quaint  and  rare 
Go  straying  through  my  garden  fair, 
As  if  they  sought  with  wildered  air 

The  fireflies'  fitful  glimmer. 

Oh,  could  some  painter's  facile  brush 
On  canvas  limn  my  garden's  blush, 
The  fevered  world  its  din  would  hush 

To  crown  the  high  endeavor ; 
Or  could  a  poet  snare  in  rhyme 
The  breathings  of  this  balmy  clime, 
His  fame  might  dare  the  dart  of  Time 

And  soar  undimmed  forever. 

In  a  recent  number  of  The  Independent  Maurice 
Thompson  describes  in  his  inimitable  way  a  visit 
to  Tuskaloosa  and  the  country  home  of  Mr. 
Peck:  "During  my  leisure  drives  with  an  in- 
telligent colored  coachman  who  seemed  to  know 
everybody  and  everybody's  history,  I  called  a 
halt  in  front  of  the  plantation  home  of  that  de- 
lightful poet,  Samuel  Minturn  Peck.  Taking  due 
advantage  of  the  absence  of  Mr.  Peck,  who  was 
in  New  York,  I  sketched  the  house  and  sur- 
roundings for  future  reference.  It  is  a  quiet, 
gray,  embowered  place  of  nondescript  architec- 
ture, yet  charmingly  inviting.  The  front  yard 


298  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

was  aglow  with  roses  and  a  variety  of  other 
flowers.  A  grand  oak  overshadowed  one  end  of 
the  house.  From  my  carriage  while  it  stood 
before  the  home  gate  I  could  see  for  miles  in  all 
directions,  even  to  some  billowy  mountain  knobs 
against  the  sweetest  of  all  sky  lines,  A  consid- 
erable plantation  surrounds  Mr.  Peck's  house, 
which  is  cared  for  by  a  colored  family.  Great 
fields  of  corn  and  oats  (and  \vhat  from  a  distance 
looked  like  cotton)  showed  excellent  agriculture. 
The  mocking  birds  were  singing  under  the  poet's 
window.  While  I  listened  to  their  marvelous 
voices  and  drew  in  the  sweets  of  rose  garden  and 
orchard  and  fields  and  wood,  I  wondered  why 
the  Southern  poet  prefers  the  rush  and  swirl  of 
the  metropolis  to  that  restful  dream-haunted 
nook  where  he  has  written  so  many  graceful  and 
hauntingly  pretty  bits  of  true  song.  I  tried  in 
vain  to  bribe  my  driver  to  face  the  danger  of  a 
dog  and  look  up  the  colored  tenants.  I  wanted 
some  of  Peck's  roses  to  take  home  with  me. 
What  I  did  take  away  is  an  impression  of  a  home 
that  looks  just  like  the  nest  of  a  song  bird — cozy, 
half  hidden  in  bloom  and  foliage,  and  altogether 
attractive." 

Mr.  Peck  has  been  fond  of  music  from  infancy. 
As  a  child  he  enjoyed  sweet  sounds  especially, 


SAMUEL    MI  XT  CRN    PECK.  299 

but  could  not  endure  sad  music.  At  school  he 
was  noted  for  possessing  a  fine  memory,  and  he 
had  "an  aptitude  in  every  study  but  mathematics." 
He  attended  an  "old-time"  school  at  Tuskaloosa, 
and  "a  public  school  in  the  West  for  a  time,  and 
was  graduated  from  the  University  of  Alabama 
in  1876.''  His  early  developed  love  for  verse- 
making  attracted  the  attention  of  at  least  one  of 
the  professors  at  the  university.  This  was  Prof. 
W.  C.  Richardson,  who  was  himself  a  maker  "of 
beautiful  verses." 

After  leaving  the  university  Mr.  Peck  was 
prevailed  upon  by  his  family,  somewhat  against 
his  own  judgment,  to  take  up  the  study  of  med- 
icine;  and  in  due  course  he  received  a  medical 
degree  from  Bellevue  Medical  College  in  New 
York.  But,  as  he  says,  he  "did  not  have  any 
taste  for  medicine,  and  has  never  practiced  his 
profession."  He  felt  that  "to  spend  his  life 
among  the  sick  and  suffering  would  bring  re- 
sponsibilities, and  force  him  to  go  through 
scenes,  from  which  he  instinctively  shrank." 

About  the  time  he  was  in  attendance  upon  the 
Medical  College  he  began  to  "find  himself  in  a 
literary  way."  But  literature  was  not  his  first 
love.  We  have  already  noticed  that  he  was  very 
fond  of  music  as  a  child,  and  as  a  youth  "his 


3°0  SAMUEL    SlINTURN    l'!X  K. 

inclinations  were  all  in  the  direction  of  music/* 
There  was  formerly  in  the  South  a  strong  preju- 
dice against  a  young  man  devoting  his  time  to  the 
study  of  music,  especially  of  the  piano,  and  Air. 
Peck's  parents  shared  this  prejudice.  A  young 
man  who  was  addicted  to  the  piano  or  "violin  was 
looked  upon  as  well-nigh  a  lost  creature."  His 
musical  inclinations  did  not  therefore  meet  with 
the  approbation  of  his  family.  Young  Peck  was, 
however,  so  persistent  in  his  strumming  on  the 
piano  that  his  father  finally  agreed  to  let  him  take 
lessons  of  a  teacher,  but  "not  with  a  view  of  his 
making  music  a  life  work."  He  impressed  his 
teacher  very  favorably,  and  an  attempt  was  made 
to  persuade  his  father  to  send  him  abroad,  in 
order  that  he  might  study  music  as  a  profession, 
"but  the  idea  was  not  listened  to  for  a  moment." 

Mr.  Peck  thinks  that  with  proper  encourage- 
ment he  "might  have  won  success  in  a  measure 
as  a  composer  of  comic  operas  and  ballads." 
About  this  time  he  composed  several  songs,  one 
of  which  became  very  popular,  "and  was  sung 
for  months  in  a  New  York  theater  in  the  child's 
play  of  little  'Riding  Hood.' ' 

His  connection  with  literature,  the  poet  thinks, 
"was  almost  accidental."  He  simply  drifted  into 
poetry,  as  it  were.  Until  he  was  about  twenty- 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  30 1 

five  years  old  he  had  written  very  little, — "an 
acrostic  and  a  few  bits  of  verse  of  very  indif- 
ferent merit,  such  as  many  young  fellows  write 
in  their  salad  days."  But,  he  says,  "love  for 
versifying  was  too  strong  to  outgrow.  By  and 
by  I  wrote  two  small  lyrics  and  published  them 
under  a  worn  dc  phunc  in  the  town  paper.  Some 
of  my  friends  thought  that  they  saw  signs  of 
promise  in  these  efforts,  and  I  Was  led  to  per- 
severe. I  sent — still  under  a  pen  name — some 
lines  to  the  Montgomery  Advertiser  and  the 
Atlanta  Constitution.  About  this  time  a  friend, 
a  professor  at  the  university  (of  Alabama),  who 
lamented  my  poor  penmanship,  asked  me  to  bring 
him  some  verses  that  he  might  cop»y  them  in  a 
fair  hand  and  send  them  to  the  Northern  papers 
and  periodicals.  Grateful  for  his  sympathy  and 
interest,  I  availed  myself  of  the  kind  offer  and 
carried  him  a  handful  of  lyrics,  from  which  he 
selected  two — 'The  Orange  Tree/  which  he  sent 
to  the  New  York  Evening  Post,  and  'A  Legend/ 
which  was  dispatched  to  the  New  York  Inde- 
pendent. Both  were  at  once  accepted.  The 
editor  of  The  Independent  said  that  the  legend  was 
fresh  and  good,  and  he  liked  it.  Of  course  I 
was  greatly  pleased ;  still,  my  ambition  was  small. 
However,  I  was  encouraged  to  continue  piping, 


302  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

and  wrote  a  number  of  lyrics  for  the  New  York 
Home  Jownwl,  the  editor  of  which,  the  late  George 
Perry,  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  gave  me  much 
good  co-unsel  as  well  as  encouragement ;  and  his 
unfailing  support  causes  me  now  to  regard  him 
as,  in  a  sense,  my  literary  godfather.  As  my 
work  appeared  in  the  Home  Journal  it  drew  the 
attention  of  Marion  Baker,  the  editor  of  the 
Sunday  edition  of  the  New  Orleans  Times- 
Democrat,  and  he  reproduced  them  as  they  were 
printed  in  the  Northern  paper." 

It  is  worth  noting  here  that  Mrs.  Julie 
Wetherill  Baker,  the  wife  of  Marion  Baker,  is 
one  of  Mr.  Peck's  most  highly  valued  corre- 
spondents and  literary  advisers.  In  speaking  of 
his  literary  friends,  he  says  of  her  and  Mrs. 
Ruddy:  "My  two  most  important  correspond- 
ences— in  a  literary  sense — have  been  with  Mrs. 
Julie  Wetherill  Baker,  .  .  .  and  Mrs.  Ella 
Giles  Ruddy,  formerly  of  Madison,  Wisconsin, 
and  now  of  California.  Both  of  these  women 
are  delightful  letter-writers.  Mrs.  Ruddy,  who 
is  a  writer,  as  well  as  Mrs.  Baker,  encouraged 
my  literary  efforts  in  every  possible  way — by 
criticism  as  well  as  by  numerous  notices  in  the 
press.  .  .  .  To  both  of  these  women  I  am 
indebted  much." 


SAMUEL    MJNTURN   PECK.  3°3 

> 

Among  those  who  gave  Mr.  Peck  much  en- 
couragement, in  the  early  years  of  his  career  as 
poet,  was  the  late  Prof,  William  M.  Baskervill, 
who,  through  many  lectures  and  magazine  arti- 
cles, and  especially  through  the  foundation  of 
the  "Southern  Writers"  series,  did  so  much  to 
introduce  the  reading  public  of  America  to  a 
more  intimate  knowledge  of  Southern  literature. 
Prof.  Baskervill  was  among  the  first  critics  of 
the  South  to  discover  extraordinary  merit  in  the 
random  poems  of  Mr.  Peck,  and  a  correspond- 
ence sprang  up  between  the  two  men  as  early 
as  1887,  just  after  the  appearance  of  the  poet's 
first  volume,  "Cap  and  Bells."  This  corre- 
spondence, somewhat  formal  and  business-like  at 
first,  soon  grew  into  that  of  intimate  literary 
friends;  and  the  tone  of  several  of  Mr.  Peck's 
letters  indicates  that  he  valued  the  professor's 
words  of  advice  and  encouragement  very  highly. 
In  writing  of  the  death  of  Prof.  Baskervill,  he 
says :  "It  was  not  my  good  fortune  to  see  much 
of  him  personally :  but  for  a  number  cf  years  we 
exchanged  occasional  letters.  Indeed,  I  never 
met  him  but  once.  About  three  or  four  years 
ago  he  took  dinner  at  my  boarding 'place  in  New 
York  with  Mr.  James  Lane  Allen.  At  the  table 
.that  day  was  also  present  Miss  Sarah  Bamwell 


30-1  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

Elliott,  the  Southern  novelist,  and  the  talk  was 
most  delightful,  and  the  occasion  will  ever  re- 
main one  of  my  charming  memories.  Several 
years  before,  Prof.  Baskervill  had  given  me  great 
encouragement  in  my  work,  so  that  meeting  him 
was  like  meeting  an  old  friend/'  In  a  letter  to 
Prof.  Baskervill,  dated  October,  1888,  Mr.  Peck 
says :  "I  wish  to  thank  you  for  the  very  kind  and 
appreciative  notice  of  my  work  which  appeared  in 
a  recent  issue  of  the  Nashville  American.  .  .  . 
It  will  be  my  ambition  to  deserve  in  the  future 
some  of  the  praise  you  have  so  kindly  bestowed. 
I  wish  I  lived  near  enough  to  have  you  criticise 
my  manuscript  before  it  goes  to  the  editor.  I 
am  often  undecided  which  of  two  lines  or  stanzas 
to  use — what  to  cut  out  and  what  to  retain." 
Again,  in  a  letter  to  the  same  of  a  later  date : 
"I  am  very  glad  you  were  pleased  with  my  little 
book,  'Rings  and  Love  Knots;  and  any  appre- 
ciative words  you  feel  disposed  to  say  of  it  .  .  . 
will  gratify  me  as  well  as  benefit  me  exceedingly. 
I  hope  you  will  sign  what  you  may  write,  for  I 
would  much  prefer  your  name  to  the  pluralis 


After  the  hearty  reception  which  his  first  pub- 
lished poems  received,  Mr.  Peck  felt  very  much 
encouraged  to  pursue  poetry  as  a  profession. 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  305 

Soon  he  was  contributing  to  a  large  number 
of  periodicals,  and  his  verses  were  extensively 
copied.  It  was  then  that  the  ballade,  rondeau, 
villanelle,  and  other  French  forms  were  being 
revived  by  Andrew  Lang  and  Austin  Dobson, 
and  he  "began  to  write  them  too ;"  and  he  thinks 
that  they  taught  him  "neatness  and  flexibility. 
At  least  they  restrained  any  tendency  to  dif- 
fuseness."  He  did  not  scruple  to  use  the  prun- 
ing knife  in  his  verses,  often  "excising  lines, 
and  sometimes  whole  stanzas,  when,  however 
good  in  themselves,  they  did  not  add  to  the 
effect  of  a  poem  viewed  as  a  whole/'  He 
was  also  much  taken  by  the  vers  dc  societe  of 
Locker  and  Dobson,  and  his  rhymes  in  a  similar 
direction  met  a  cordial  welcome  in  the  Century 
and  other  magazines.  His  first  two  contribu- 
tions in  the  former,  "I  Wonder  What  Maud  Will 
Say"  and  "A  Kiss  in  the  Rain/'  were  great  suc- 
cesses, and  were  followed  by  many  others.  In 
his  love  songs  his  ear  for  music  led  him  to  lay 
special  stress  on  their  melody ;  "indeed,  nothing 
that  I  wrote  pleased  me  that  did  not  have  a  swing 
— a  tune  to  it." 

"It  was  in  1886,"  he  writes,  "that  I  conceived 
the  idea  of  issuing  a  volume ;  and  it  came  about 
in  this  way.  I  was  passing  some  time  in  New 

20 


306  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

York,  when  one  day  a  letter  which  had  sought 
me  in  the  South  was  forwarded  to  me  from  my 
home  in  Alabama.  Mr.  Stedman  was  about  to 
publish  a  series  of  his  critical  essays  on  American 
poetry  in  book  form.  As  my  work  had  been 
mentioned  among  the  verses  of  the  younger 
writers,  and  it  was  his  plan  to  give  the  birth- 
place of  all  authors  whose  names  occurred  in  the 
work,  he  wanted  mine.  The  letter  was  dated 
but  a  block  from  where  I  was  sojourning  in  the 
city,  so  I  decided  to  give  the  small  bit  of  infor- 
mation in  person.  Arthur  Stedman,  son  of  E. 
C.  Stedman,  was  the  first  person  that  I  met  at  the 
house;  and  after  greeting  me,  almost  his  next 
words  were,  'I  see  that  you  are  going  to  bring 
out  a  volume/  This  was  news  to  me,  as  I  had 
then  no  intention  of  doing  so.  But  the  state- 
ment had  been  made  in  some  literary  journal." 
Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman  had  been  so  impressed  by 
Mr.  Peck's  lyric  entitled,  "My  Little  Girl,"  that 
he  had  cut  it  from  the  New  York  Tribime,  car- 
ried it  round  in  his  pocket,  and  declared  that  no 
one  but  a  genuine  poet  could  have  written  the 
lines.  This  dainty  little  lyric  which  so  struck 
the  fancy  of  Mr.  Stedman  was  afterwards  pub- 
lished in  "Cap  and  Bells,"  and  shall  be  given  here 
in  full: 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  307 

My  little  girl  is  nested 

Within  her  tiny  bed, 
With  amber  ringlets  crested 

Around  her  dainty  head ; 
She  lies  so  calm  and  stilly, 

She  breathes  so  soft  and  low, 
She  calls  to  mind  a  lily 

Half  hidden  in  the  snow. 

A  weary  little  mortal 

Has  gone  to  slumberland; 
The  Pixies  at  the  portal 

Have  caught  her  by  the  hand. 
She  dreams  her  broken  dolly 

Will  soon  be  mended  there, 
That  looks  so  melancholy 

Upon  the   rocking-chair. 

I  kiss  your  wayward  tresses, 

My  drowsy  little  queen, 
I  know  you  have  caresses 

From  floating  forms  unseen. 
O  angels,  let  me  keep  her 

To  kiss  away  my  cares, 
This  darling  little  sleeper, 

Who  has  my  love  and  prayers. 

The  favorable  reception  given  Mr.  Peck's 
verses  by  men  of  note  was  naturally  very  de- 
lightful to  the  poet,  and  it  inspired  him  to  under- 
take the  publication  of  his  first  volume  of  poems. 
With  little  difficulty  he  soon  found  a  publisher 
in  Mr.  Frederick  A.  Stokes,  and  in  a  few  months 


308  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

"Cap  and  Bells"  appeared.  This  book  was  re- 
ceived most  favorably  by  the  critics.  One  writ- 
er in  the  Critic  said  that  the  poet  "sang  after 
the  manner  of  Peck" — was  original.  In  1893 
his  second  book,  "Rings  and  Love  Knots,"  was 
published;  and  in  1896,  "Rhymes  and  Roses." 
All  three  have  been  successful.  The  first  has 
passed  through  six  editions,  and  the  second  is 
in  the  fourth. 

Mr.  Peck's  lyrics  have  been  very  popular  with 
the  composers,  who  have  made  great  profit  out 
of  their  musical  settings.  "The  Grapevine 
Swing,"  among  others,  "has  been  sung  every- 
where, and  has  been  set  by  a  dozen  composers, 
and  rendered  by  minstrels  and  in  plays ;  and 
once  it  was  given  in  opera  bouffc,  being  interpo- 
lated in  Girofie-Girofla.  It  is  also  a  favorite  se- 
lection with  elocutionists/ ' 

Mr.  Peck  is  endowed  with  only  a  few  of  the 
eccentric  poet's  characteristics  with  reference  to 
the  time  and  method  of  composition.  His  muse 
seems  to  be  almost  as  simple  and  charming  as 
the  man  himself.  He  has  of  course  special 
moments  of  inspiration,  but  they  are  as  likely  to 
fall  in  the  afternoon  as  in  the  morning.  "I  am 
sometimes  haunted  by  a  refrain,"  he  says,  "and 
cannot  rest  until  I  have  used  it.  Sometimes  I 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  309 

feel  like  writing  verses  after  reading  the  poetry 
of  others.  When  I  am  writing  time  flies  unnoted 
and  hours  seem  almost  like  minutes.  After  I 
have  written  a  poem  I  never  hesitate  to  cut  it 
unmercifully.  I  am  willing  to  sacrifice  good 
lines  and  whole  stanzas  for  the  sake  of  unity  and 
general  effect.  I  have  a  great  dislike  for  cum- 
brous and  long  words/' 

In  answer  to  a  question  about  his  preferences 
in  poetry  he  writes :  "I  like  all  kinds  of  poetry, 
but  lyrical  verse  gives  me  most  pleasure,  and  I 
have  accordingly  made  that  a  study.  In  the  mak- 
ing of  my  verses  I  have  striven  for  simplicity, 
grace,  and  beauty.  I  have  felt  that  sublimity 
was  beyond  my  power  to  achieve."  As  to  the 
"much-abused  French  forms  of  verse,"  he  says 
again :  "They  are  often  styled  artificial ;  but  the 
sonnet  form  is  equally  so,  and  it  contains  some 
of  the  finest  thoughts.  My  muse  has  never  ob- 
jected to  these  Gallic  bonds,  and  she  dances  for 
me  willingly  in  metrical  armlets,  bracelets,  and 
anklets ;  and  to  my  ear  their  merry  chiming  adds 
a  charm  to  her  movements.  I  am  confident  that 
writing  ballades,  rondeaux,  villanelles,  etc.,  has 
been  improving  to  me.  Their  form  necessitates 
conciseness,  and  destroys  the  violent  affection 
that  young  writers  are  apt  to  feel  for  adjectives. 


310  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

...  I  think  there  is  no  better  school  for  the 
attainment  of  flexibility  and  technique  than  the 
study  of  mixed  forms.  They  forbid  looseness 
of  expression,  and  are  a  kind  of  metrical  drill 
and  teach  a  neatness  and  precision  that  most  be- 
ginners need,  and,  far  from  producing  stiffness, 
render  the  writer  more  graceful  when  he  at- 
tempts less  rigid  measures." 

Mr.  Peck's  dislike  for  long  and  unusual  words 
is  one  of  his  most  noteworthy  characteristics  as 
poet.  It  and  an  inherent  aversion  to  extrava- 
gant language  account  for  the  liquid  clearness 
and  simplicity  of  his  published  volumes.  He  is 
a  true  artist  of  word-shadings.  "It  seems  to 
me,"  he  says,  "there  is  an  aristocracy  among 
words,  and  in  my  choice  of  them  I  am  guided  by 
my  emotion  and  not  by  my  intellect."  He  writes 
again  :  "In  making  verse  more  than  writing  prose, 
I  think,  words  seem  living  things.  One  word 
will  do  and  no  other.  For  instance,  when  I  wrote 
'I  Wonder  What  Maud  Will  Say/  Maud  was  the 
only  name  that  suited  the  piece.  I  tried  'I  Won- 
der What  Lilian  Will  Say— What  Ethel  Will 
Say/  etc.,  but  nothing  would  serve — only  Maud. 
The  music  of  the  lines  required  a  name  of  one 
syllable,  though,  as  the  measure  was  anapestic, 
a  two-syllabled  name  would  have  made  the  meter 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  311 

more  regular;  but  by  using  one  syllable  the  ear 
is  made  to  pause — to  dwell  on  Maud.  So  there 
is  a  lingering,  and  the  line  ends  with  an  iambus, 
or  spondee,  which  rests  the  ear." 

In  •  the  zealous  care  and  artistic  instinct  with 
which  he  chooses  his  words,  as  well  as  in  the  ac- 
curacy and  vividness  of  his  descriptions,  he  re- 
minds us  of  Tennyson — probably  the  greatest 
word-artist  in  English  literature.  He  is  certainly 
spontaneous  in  his  verse,  and  his  spontaneity  and 
originality  are  doubtless  due  largely  to  the  fact 
that  he  has  exercised  much  care  in  the  selection 
of  his  reading.  He  has,  rather  strange  for  a 
modern  poet,  never  cared  much  for  the  poetry 
of  any  other  literature  than  the  English ;  because 
he  "cannot  apprehend  the  fine  shades  of  mean- 
ing and  the  social  standing  of  words  in  anoth- 
er language.  ...  It  seems  to  me  that  one 
might  get  the  good  of  the  philosophical  part 
or  element  of  verse  in  a  foreign  tongue,  and  still 
miss  that  almost  indescribable  charm,  that  grace 
of  subtlety,  or  subtlety  of  grace,  that  belongs  to 
words  when  used  by  a  real  lyrist.  Words  are 
like  flowers,  they  have  their  color,  their  perfume ; 
and  a  poem  may  be  likened  to  a  bouquet  or  gar- 
land. To  me,  reading  a  poem  in  another  tongue 
is  like  admiring  and  smelling  a  bouquet  in  the 


312  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

dark.  I  know  there  is  something  beautiful  and 
sweet,  but  the  charm  comes  to  me  in  a  vague 
kind  of  way.  I  am  baffled  of  the  poet's  complete 
meaning.  Even  the  music  of  the  lines  eludes  me 
partially."  It  is  therefore  difficult  to  discover 
traces  of  any  foreign  influence  or  inspiration  in 
any  of  his  poems. 

Another  peculiarity  of  the  poet  may  be  con- 
sidered as  giving  added  individuality  to  his  pro- 
ductions ;  and  that  is,  he  never  memorizes  any  of 
the  poetry  that  he  reads.  "I  never  memorize 
poetry,  for  fear  that  I  may  be  unconsciously  guilty 
of  plagiarism.  I  do  not  remember  even  my  own 
verses,  and,  were  I  called  upon  to  do  so,  could 
scarcely  repeat  one  of  my  own  poems." 

His  sunny  temperament  and  genial  nature  will 
not  allow  him  to  read  books  of  a  gloomy,  pessi- 
mistic character.  He  avoids  "reading  morbid 
verse  and  the  writings  of  those  poets,  however 
great,  who  are  guilty  of  marked  mannerisms." 
For  these  reasons  he  does  not  often  read  Byron, 
Poe,  and  Rossetti ;  although  he  has  "great  esteem 
for  the  genius  of  these  men,  and  single  poems  of 
theirs  like  'Annabel  Lee'  and  The  Blessed  Damo- 
sel'  give  him  special  delight."  But  he  feels  that 
the  study  of  their  poetry  would  be  of  no  benefit 
to  him.  Herrick,  Burns,  Hogg,  Wordsworth, 


SAMUEL    MIXTURN    PECK.  31$ 

Locker,  and  our  own  Whittier,  are  what  he  deems 
"wholesome  writers,  whose  influence  can  prove 
only  beneficial." 

"I  like  all  good  poetry/'  he  writes,  "all  good 
poetry;  taking  most  delight  in  that  of  external 
nature.  I  am  fond,  too,  of  love  songs,  Scottish 
songs  notably.  I  love  Wordsworth,  Burns,  Her- 
rick.  What  charms  me  most  in  verse,  I  think, 
is  spontaneity — lyrics  that  appear  to  have  forced 
their  way  from  the  singer's  lips." 

After  these  frank  expressions  about  his  favor- 
ite poets  and  poems,  it  is  easier  to  understand 
who,  in  spite  of  the  originality  and  individuality 
of  his  verses,  have  been  his  teachers  and,  probably 
unconsciously,  his  models.  It  is  not  a  difficult 
matter  to  discover  in  his  lyrics  of  nature  and  his 
love  songs  something  of  the  exquisite  grace  and 
charm  characteristic  of  poems  on  similar  sub- 
jects in  Herrick's  "Hesperides."  His  whimsi- 
calities in  the  employment  of  ever- vary  ing  verse 
forms  might  possibly  be  traced  to  the  same  genial 
master.  The  subtle  music  of  the  words,  which 
is  a  most  marked  characteristic  of  Mr.  Peck's 
poetry,  abounds  likewise,  but  in  less  perfection, 
in  the  best  of  Herrick's  productions.  Herrick 
was  preeminently  a  lyric  poet,  and  believed  ap- 
parently in  short  poems.  He  possessed  an  inti- 


3H  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

mate  knowledge  of.  and  love  for  the  objects  of 
nature,  and  his  poems  are  spontaneous.  The 
intimate  love  of  nature  and  the  spontaneity  of  his 
verse  Mr.  Peck  also  has  in  common  with  Robert 
Burns.  He,  like  Burns  and  Herrick,  revels  in 
the  composition  of  love  songs.  That  he  is  an 
accurate  observer  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  such 
lines  as  the  following  from  "Earth  Love"  show 
in  a  striking  manner : 

In  lonely  woods  I  love  to  scan 

The  silvery  snare  the  spider  weaves, 

Or  watch  the  mimic  caravan 
Of  ants  among  the  moldering  leaves ; 

or  these,  from  the  "Blackberry  Blossoms:" 

When   the  pine-boughs  are   swinging  in  the  soft   May 

breeze, 

And  bumblebees  the  boasting  of  their  Springtide  gain, 
And  the  mockbird  is  singing  out  his  happiest  glees 

To  the  cotton-tailed  rabbit  in  the  bend  of  the  lane ; 
They  lean  their  faces  on  the  moss-grown  rails 

And  listen  to  the  melody  the  mockbird  weaves ; 
While  the  lizards  go  a-darting  with  their  trembling  tails 
Like  slim  long  shuttles  through  the  last  year's  leaves. 
Chrysanthemums  are  fair, 
And  orchids  are  rare, 
And  many  there  be  that  love  them ! 
But  with  dew-besprinkled  faces 
And  wildwood  graces, 
Oh,  the  blackberry  blossoms  are  above  them. 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  315 

If  we  are  to  form  our  opinion  from  his  poetry, 
then  we  should  say  he  shares  with.Herrick,  and 
to  a  less  extent  with  Burns,  a  happy,  sunny  tem- 
perament. "There  is  not  a  sunnier  book  in  the 
world,"  says  Mr.  Edmund  Gosse,  "than  the  'Hes- 
perides.'  To  open  it  is  to  enter  a  rich  garden 
on  a  summer  afternoon,  and  to  smell  the  perfume 
of  a  wealth  of  flowers  and  warm  herbs  and  ripen- 
ing fruits." .  And  the  same  words  might  be  ap- 
plied with  almost  equal  truth  to  Mr.  Peck's  three 
dainty  little  volumes.  His  poetry  is  rarely 
strongly  passionate;  he  never  exhibits  the  en- 
kindling poetic  fire  which  is  characteristic  of 
Burns's  best  poetry. 

While  many  of  his  verses  may  remind  us  fre- 
quently of  something  in  Herrick  or  Burns,  he 
does  not  show  the  slightest  traces  of  imitation 
of  the  two  famous  English  poets,  or  of  any  one 
else.  The  nature  which  he  describes  in  his  poetry 
is  the  nature  of  the  Southern  States,  and  he  pipes 
of  it  with  the  enthusiasm '  of  an  intimate,  sym- 
pathetic friend.  We  never  feel  that  he  is  trying 
to  give  us  a  catalogue  of  flowers,  birds,  and  other 
objects  of  nature  for  the  sake  of  displaying  his 
knowledge  of  natural  history.  Each  flower  and 
bird  is  described  with  the  warm  enthusiasm  of 
a  lover.  His  love  songs  could  not  be  sung  with 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

equal  grace  of  the  "bonnie  lassie"  of  Scotland  01 
the  "blue-eyed  Saxon"  girl.  They  are  sung  of 
the  "Southern  girl" — the  girl  of  Alabama  and 
Georgia  and  Tennessee.  The  genial  rays  of  a 
Southern  sun  tempered  by  the  liquid  blue  of  a 
Southern  sky  dance  and  sparkle  in  almost  all  of 
his  poems.  Whether  it  is  a  love  song,  a  lyric  of 
nature,  or  vers  de  societe,  it  matters  not ;  the  same 
spirit  is  everywhere  prevalent.  It  gladdens  the 
serio-comic  wooing  song,  "I  Wonder  What  Maud 
Will  Say ;"  it  is  the  inspiration  of  "The  Dimple 
on  Her  Cheek :" 

Within  a  nest  of  roses, 

Half  hidden  from  the  sight, 
Until  a  smile  discloses 

Its  loveliness  aright, 
Behold  the  work  of  Cupid, 

Who  wrought  it  in  a  freak, 
The  witching  little  dimple — 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek. 

And  "Mignon"  and  "The  Little  Lass  in  Pink" 
are  aglow  with  this  same  spirit,  and  full  of  those 
delicate  touches  and  exquisite  descriptions  which 
are  so  abundant  in  his  poetry. 

The  sad  and  melancholy  are  notably  absent 
from  the  productions  of  our  author.  His  muse 
rarely  permits  him  to  essay  serious,  earnest  por- 
trayals of  life.  His  nature  poems  are  not,  like 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  31? 

those  of  Burns  and  Wordsworth,  pointed  \vith 
deep  lessons  on  the  philosophy  of  living.  He 
makes  no  attempt,  as  did  Wordsworth  and  his 
followers,  to  "humanize  nature."  Being  a  true 
lyric  poet,  he  never  writes  poems  "with  a  pur- 
pose." If  he  has  a  lesson  to  teach,  the  reader  is 
not  aware  of  it.  To  him,  as  to  Keats,  "a  thing 
of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever;"  and  he  doubtless 
believes  with  Emerson  that  "beauty  is  its  own 
excuse  for  being."  He  simply  pipes  the  senti- 
ments of  his  own  soul,  because  he  feels  like  it. 
Though  seldom  serious,  his  poetry  is  always  dig- 
nified in  tone.  With  a  beaming  face  and  the 
bearing  of  the  true  Southern  gentleman,  he  seems 
to  greet  us  on  every  page  of  his  published  vol- 
umes. He  is  never  giddy,  but  sometimes  fan- 
tastic, as,  for  instance,  in  "The  Trumpet  Flower :" 

When  night  winds  rock  the  sleeping  bird, 
And  star  smiles  smooth  the  restless  main, 

By  mortal  ear  can  ne'er  be  heard 
The  Pixie's  eerie  strain. 

The  legend  saith,  a  child   might  catch 

The  fairy  glee  if  free  from  sin, 
For  Puck  would  lift  the  elfland  latch 

And  let  the  wee  one  in. 

And  still  more  so  in  the  "Elf  Song,"  which  is 
one  of  the  most  witching,  fairylike  poems  in  the 


SAMUEL    MINTUKN    PECK, 

English  language — one  in  which  the  magical 
touch  of  Puck  and  his  dainty  band  seems  to  thrill 
every  word.  It  is  worthy  o>f  being  quoted  in  full : 

I  twist  the  toes  of  the  birds  adoze, 

I  tinkle  the  dew  bells  bright ; 
I  chuck  the  chin  of  the  dimpled  rose 

Till  she  laughs  in  the  stars'  dim  light. 
The  glowworm's  lamp  I  hide  in  the  damp, 

I  steal  the  wild  bee's  sting; 
I  pinch  the  toad  till  his  legs  are  a-cramp, 

And  clip  the  beetle's  wing. 
O  ho  !  O  hey  ! 
My  pranks  I  play 
With  never  a  note  of  warning. 

I  set  a  snare  for  the  moonbeams  fair 

All  wrought  of  spider-web  twine; 
I  tangle  the  naughty  children's  hair 

In  a  snarl  of  rare  design. 
I  flit  through  the  house  without  any  noise, 

There's  never  an  elf  so  shy ; 
I  break  the  toys  of  bad  little  boys 

And  the  cross  little  girls  who  cry. 

0  hey  !  O  ho  ! 

1  work  them  woe, 

Till  crows  the  cock  in  the  morning. 

A  casual  glance  at  Herrick's  "Oberon's  Feast/' 
"Oberon's  Palace/'  etc.,  will  convince  the  read- 
er that  our  poet  is  indebted  largely  to  the  ear- 
lier master  for  these  "fairy"  suggestions.  There 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  319 

are  dozens  of  these  little  incomparable,  descrip- 
tive lyrics  which  deserve  to  be  quoted  in  full. 
It  must  suffice  here  to  give  the  titles  of  a  few  of 
the  most  popular  ones,  and  favorites  of  Mr.  Peck 
himself.  These  include  "Mignon,"  "Earth  Love," 
"The  Grapevine  Swing,"  "A  Knot  of  Blue," 
"The  Captain's  Feather,"  "Among  My  Books," 
"The  Old  Gum  Spring,"  "My  Grandmother's 
Turkey-tail  Fan,"  "Elder  Blossoms,"  "Sassa- 
fras," "Aunt  Jemima's  Quilt." 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  poet  has 
scored  his  remarkable  successes  in  the  light  lyric 
vein  with  little  exertion.  In  every  poem  that  he 
has  given  to  the  public  we  find  spontaneity  com- 
bined with  exquisite,  careful  workmanship.  Let 
no  one  imagine  his  light-tripping  verses  have  not 
undergone  the  most  critical  "filing"  processes, 
before  they  were  thought  fit  for  the  public  eye. 
This  zeal  for  quality  has  kept  his  publications 
from  multiplying  rapidly.  The  specimens  which 
have  been  given  already  are  amply  sufficient  to 
prove  that  the  poet  practices  what  he  preaches 
when  he  says:  "I  believe  firmly  in  hard  work. 
The  first  idea,  of  course — the  inspiration,  if  you 
choose  to  call  it  so — takes  precedence  in  impor- 
tance ;  but  the  manner  of  expression,  the  polish 
that  should  follow  the  first  outburst,  is  almost 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

equally  necessary,  if  the  lyric  is  to  live.  In  my 
work  ...  I  have  sought  beauty,  grace,  and 
melody  more  than  strength."  No  truer  and 
sounder  criticism  could  be  passed  upon  Mr.  Peck's 
poetry.  His  poems  without  exception  impress 
the  reader  especially  through  the  three  qualities 
of  "beauty,  grace,  and  melody."  And  if  one  can 
only  break  away  from  the  spell  which  the  poet  has 
cast  upon  him  by  the  magic  of  these  qualities, 
and  can  bring  himself  to  a  careful  consideration 
of  the  poems  in  the  broadest  sense,  he  will  find 
that  they  are  for  the  most  part  wanting  in  vigor 
and  strength.  But  this  cannot  be  called  a  fault 
or  defect  of  his  poetry,  because  it  is  almost  per- 
fect in  the  three  qualities  above  mentioned ;  and 
these  three  qualities  are  more  essential  to  the 
light-tripping,  lilting  lyric  poetry  toward  which 
the  poet  aspires,  and  in  which  he  excels,  than 
strength  and  ruggedness.  In  fact,  the  merry, 
dancing,  musical  forms  of  versification  which 
our  poet  uses  in  such  a  great  variety,  and  with 
such  exquisite  art,  are  little  adapted  to  composi- 
tions of  a  more  serious,  earnest  character. 

The  lack  of  strength  is,  then,  one  of  the  limita- 
tions which  the  poet  recognizes* as  readily  as  any 
one  else.  It  is  not  my  purpose,  therefore,  to 
enter  into  a  critical  discussion  of  those  elements 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  321 

of  great  poetry — strength,  seriousness,  the  grand, 
the  sublime,  and  the  like — at  which  the  poet 
never  aims,  and  the  lack  of  which  he  long  ago 
recognized  as  being  shortcomings  of  his  muse. 
"I  have  felt,"  he  says,  "that  sublimity  was  be- 
yond my  power  to  achieve ;''  and  he  has  very 
properly  never  attempted  to  achieve  it.  Again 
he  says:  "Early  in  my  career  I  saw  that  I  was 
only  a  lyrist,  a  minor  singer,  and  by  a  happy 
chance,  or  perhaps  a  fortunate  instinct,  for  which 
I  have  ever  been  thankful,  I  managed  to  escape 
a  great  peril.  The  greatest  danger  that  besets  a 
minor  poet  is  imitation.  It  is  most  insidious 
poison."  It  is  by  what  he  has  done  and  tried,  and 
feels  himself  fitted  for,  and  not  by  those  limita- 
tions to  which  he  has  never  aspired,  and  which  he 
feels  are  beyond  his  poetical  reach,  that  Mr.  Peck 
must  be  judged  as  a  poet.  In  light  lyric  poetry — 
especially  in  songs  of  nature,  vers  de  societe,  and 
love  songs — he  has  not  had  a  peer  in  American 
poetry,  and  few  in  his  own  generation  of  Eng- 
lish poets.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  the 
whole  field  of  English  poetry  a  greater  master 
of  those  lyrical  forms  of  versification  which  in 
recent  years  have  been  imitated  or  borrowed  in 
a  large  measure  directly  from  the  French.  He 
has  of  a  right  felt  that  he  has  attained  to  some 
21 


3^2  SAMUEL    M1MTURN    PECK. 

degree  of  proficiency  in  the  employment  of  these 
forms. 

It  is  not  to  be  inferred  irom  what  has  been  said 
that  his  lyrics  are  all  form  and  sparkle  and  noth- 
ing more.  He  not  infrequently  strikes  a  sweetly 
serious  note,  but  always  with  the  same  grace  and 
delicacy  as  in  his  gayest  love  songs.  As  Locker 
says,  'The  jester  is  not  always  gay — beneath  the 
Cap  and  Bells!" 

In  a  recent  poem  called  "Foreboding"  this 
serious,  subdued  strain  is  very  apparent : 

If  love  could  pass  as  die  away 
The  summer  winds  at  ebb  of  day 
That  through  the  amber  silence  stray, 

Sweet  heralds  of  repose, 
Whispering  in  the  ear  of  Night 
The  memory  of  the  Morning's  light, 

The  fragrance  of  its  rose ; 
Then  we  might  love  and  never  dread 
The  awful  void  when  love  is  dead. 

And  the  poet  has  infused  the  melancholy  spirit 
of  dying,  decaying  nature  into  his  "Autumn 
Dawn :" 

The  stars  have  watched  by  the  dying  rose 
Till  the  east  is  red  with  the  dawn ; 

And  the  shattered  leaves  have  sought  repose 
On  the  breast  of  the  frozen  lawn. 

In  his  nature  lyrics  he  is  for  the  most  part 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  323 

descriptive  and  reminiscent,  rarely  introspective. 
The  bay  flower,  the  sassafras,  the  pine,  the  crick- 
et, and  the  whippoorwill  may  all  suggest  deep  les- 
sons of  life  to  the  poet,  but  they  are  seldom  patent 
to  the  reader.  He  does  not,  like  Wordsworth, 
try  to  interpret  the  soul  of  man  in  terms  of  na- 
ture. He  just  sings  of  nature,  because  he  feels 
a  joy  in  her  charms,  as  the  mocking  bird  or  the 
brown  thrasher  sings.  Only  now  and  then,  as  in 
"The  Secret  of  the  Wood/'  does  he  seem  to  have 
a  longing  for  some  "balm  of  Gilead"  which  is 
to  'be  found  in  the  hidden  recesses  of  nature : 

It  may  be  so ;  and  when  we  go 

Far  from  the  crush  of  mocking  men, 
Where  green  boughs  wave  and  brooklets  flow, 

There  may  be  forms  around  us  then 
By  us  unseen,  whose  bosoms  yearn 

To  minister  and  soothe  our  pain ; 
And  that  is  why  refreshed  we  turn 

To  lift  the  daily  cross  again. 

Aside  from  their  spontaneity,  the  lyrics  of  Mr. 
Peck  attract  us  powerfully  by  their  music  and 
the  variety  of  meters  and  verse  forms.  Almost 
every  line  of  his  poetry  bespeaks  the  delicate 
sensitiveness  of  the  born  musician.  Not  only 
are  rhythm  and  harmony  faultless,  -but  melody 
is  everywhere  present.  Each  poem  sings  to  the 
perceptive  reader  by  force  of  the  exquisite  choice 


324  SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK. 

and  arrangement  of  words.  For  this  reason  his 
lyrics  are  so  popular  with  musical  composers. 
Their  tripping,  lilting  sway  suggests  melodies 
of  itself.  He  is  also  a  believer  in  rhyme  for 
lyric  poetry,  if  his  own  compositions  count  for 
anything  as  evidence.  There  is  not  a  rhymeless 
poem  in  the  three  volumes  that  have  been  given 
to  the  public!  And  he  has  incorporated  his  ad- 
miration for  rhyme  in  a  special  poem,  "The  Praise 
of  Rhyme :" 

How  I  love  the  words  that  rhyme, 

Jingling  gayly  as  they  go; 
Making  music  like  a  chime 

Rung  in  Summer's  amber  glow ! 

No  other  American  poet  can  be  compared  with 
Samuel  Minturn  Peck  in  the  facility  with  which 
he  uses  varied  metrical,  verse,  and  stanzaic  forms. 
In  "Cap  and  Bells"  alone,  the  number  of  these 
forms  almost  equals  those  of  the  Odes  of  Horace ; 
but  there  is  no  monotony  due  to  recurring  verse 
forms.  The  master  is  evident  in  the  very  slight 
changes  which  are  necessary  to  produce  the  nu- 
merous variations  without  destroying  the  music 
and  symmetry  of  the  poem.  The  poet  seems  to 
be  especially  fond  of  the  stanzas  of  eight  lines  di- 
vided into  quatrains  with  alternate  rhymes.  But 
within  the  eight  lines  we  find  almost  every  possi- 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  325 

ble  variation  in  number  of  feet  in  each  line,  and 
there  is  besides  a  large  number  of  these  octave 
stanzas  in  which  variations  of  the  rhyme  order 
occur. 

Another  stanza  which  is  popular  with  Mr. 
Peck  is  that  of  six  lines — two  longs  followed  by 
a  short — as  in  the  "Honeysuckle:" 

On  my  lattice  gayly  twining, 
Decked  with  dewdrops  softly  shining, 

In  the  morn, 

Happy  blossom !    How  I  bless  it, 
As  the  early  beams  caress  it, 

Newly  born ! 

This  form  of  versification  again  shows  the  poet's 
indebtedness  to  the  court  lyrists  of  the  early 
seventeenth  century.  He  exercises  excellent 
judgment  in  suiting  the  verse  form  to  the  senti- 
ment which  he  wishes  to  express.  He  never 
saddles  a  hobbling,  ambling  meter  upon  a  gayly- 
tripping  sentiment.  While  he  does  not  often  have 
occasion  to  employ  the  heavier-footed  line,  yet  in 
a  long  poem  like  "A  Winter  Lay"  he  shows  that 
he  can  write  in  "heroic  couplets"  as  well  as  the 
lighter  verse  of  villanelles  and  serenades. 

"A  Winter  Lay"  is  his  longest  poem,  and  it 
is  the  only  specimen,  that  he  has  thus  far  given 
to  the  world,  of  his  capacity  for  sustained  poetic 
thought.  He  is  no  admirer  of  long  poems  in 


326  SAMUEL    MINTtJRN    PECK. 

general,  and  it  is  therefore  not  surprising  that  he 
has  attempted  so  few.  His  idea  of  a  lyric  is 
apparently  that  of  a  spontaneous  poetic  outburst, 
which  naturally  must  not  be  very  long,  and  which 
offers  no  opportunity  for  sustained  thought. 

In  "The  Fair  Women  of  To-day,"  which  the 
poet  modestly  calls  a  piece  of  literary  hack  work, 
the  interested  reader  may  find  some  of  his  most 
artistic  versification.  The  book  contains  the 
portraits  of  a  number  of  well-known  women. of 
the  day,  illustrating,  or,  as  the  poet  prefers  to  say, 
illustrated  by,  some  of  his  most  graceful  and 
charming  verses.  He  has  more  recently  done  a 
similar  piece  of  work  in  furnishing  lyrics  for 
"The  Golf  Girl:  Illustrations  by  Maud  Hum- 
phrey," a  dainty  little  book,  and  one  that  is  bound 
to  become  popular  with  the  rapidly  growing  golf- 
ing fraternity.  It  opens  with  a  "rondeau"  in  the 
poet's  characteristic  style : 

The  Golf  Girl,  sirs,  I  sing  to  you; 
Her  sun-ripe  cheeks,  her  eyes  like  dew. 
No  Amaryllis  in  the  shade 
Of  beechen  boughs — no  nymph  e'er  strayed 
In  Arcady  as  fair — or  true. 

The  world  desired  a  woman  new — 
The  curtain's  up.    Advance  and  view, 
In  hale  and  simple  charm  arrayed, 
•  The  Golf  Girl. 


SAMUEL    MIXTURX    PECK.  327 

The  brightest,  best  of  Beauty's  crew. 
In  winsomeness  she  works  no  rue 
As  on  Seton's  links  who  played—- 
How Mary  Stuart's  charm  would  fade 
Before  the  sweetest  ever  blew. 
The  Golf  Girl ! 

He  has  a  new  volume  of  lyrics -nearly  ready 
for  the  publisher,  and  it  will  be  awaited  with 
eager  interest  by  the  admirers  which  the  earlier 
volumes  have  already  made  for  him.  We  can 
hardly  hope  for  anything  better  in  the  same  kind 
of  poetry  than  he  has  already  done.  Improve- 
ments along  this  line  would  be  almost  impossible. 

A  few  words  will  suffice  to  characterize  Mr. 
Peck  in  the  role  of  a  story-writer. 

Frank  L.  Stanton,  another  Southern  verse- 
writer,  doubtless  expressed  the  sentiments  of 
most  of  Mr.  Peck's  true  friends  when  he  wrote 
in  the  Atlanta  Constitution  recently:  "Samuel 
Minturn  Peck  is  doing  excellent  work  in  the 
short-story  line,  but  his  friends  regret  that  he  is 
neglecting  poetry.  .  .  .  No  writer  of  to-day 
can  match  him  in  a  love  song." 

Readers  of  the  (Boston)  Illustrated  American, 
Leslie's  Weekly,  the  New  York  Independent,  and 
The  Outlook  have  been  made  to  pass  many  a  de- 
lightful half  hour  during  the  last  three  or  four 
years  by  the  perusal  of  Mr.  Peck's  "Oakville 


328  SAMUEL    MINTUfcN    PECK. 

Stories."  They  are  sparkling,  entertaining,  and 
short.  They  are  also  original,  but  not  so  dis- 
tinctly "Peckian,"  or  characteristically  Southern, 
as  his  lyrics.  Oakville  is  the  fiction  name  for 
Tuskaloosa,  Mr.  Peck's  birthplace.  Two  of  the 
most  strikingly  entertaining  as  well  as  most  vig- 
orous of  these  stories  are,  "Not  in  the  Play"  and 
"The  Trouble  at  St.  Luke's  Church/'  in  both  of 
which  the  author  displays  remarkable  dramatic 
power  and  ability  to  delineate  individual  charac- 
ter. He  also  gives  promise  of  becoming  a  skill- 
ful manipulator  of  the  details  of  a  plot,  so  far 
as  such  stories  have  any.  But  what  Mr.  Peck 
has  so  far  accomplished  in  the  field  of  the  short 
story  could  have  been  done  equally  well  by  sev- 
eral other  writers  of  the  day,  while  there  is  not 
a  living  American  or  Englishman  who  could  do 
his  work  in  lyric  poetry.  For  this  reason  it  seems 
a  pity  that  he  should  not  devote  all  his  time  to 
wooing  the  lyric  muse.  And  yet  he  has  never 
attempted  anything  in  the  field  of  literature  that 
he  has  not  made  entertaining. 

Whether  we  read  his  lyrics  or  his  stories,  we 
are  ever  impressed  with  the  fact  that  the  author 
is  a  cultured,  genial  Southern  gentleman.  "Any 
one  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that  Mr.  Peck  has 
an  amiable  disposition,"  says  a  writer  in  the 


SAMUEL    M1NTURN    PECK.  329 

Swmy  Smith;  and  the  same  writer  relates  an  in- 
teresting anecdote  of  the  absurd  lengths  to  which 
the  "autograph  fiends"  sometimes  go  with  amiable 
men  of  note.  "There  are  times  when  the  line  has 
to  be  drawn  on  collectors.  For  instance,  a  lady 
in  the  far  West  so  greatly  admired  his  poem  'My 
Grandmother's  Turkey-tail  Fan'  that  she  mod- 
estly requested  him  to  send  her  a  turkey  feather 
to  frame  with  his  verses.  Fancy  over  six  feet, 
two  hundred  pounds  of  Alabama  laureate  chasing 
a  turkey  gobbler!  Few  people  outside  of  Sun- 
day-school books  have  the  elastic  sort  of  amia- 
bility that  would  not  snap  under  such  a  strain." 

Mr.  Peck  has  been  a  student  of  literature  as 
well  as  an  author,  during  recent  years.  Besides 
writing  lyrics  and  contributing  "nineteen  or 
twenty"  stories  to  various  publications  "during 
the  past  three  or  four  years,"  he  has  taken  special 
courses  in  English  literature  in  Columbia  Uni- 
versity. He  is  "fond  of  reading,"  but  spends 
"much  time  out  of  doors."  "Cycling  is,"  he  says, 
"a  favoriie  amusement/'  and  he  has  taken  several 
tours  on  his  wheel  in  England  and  France.  The 
poet  is  physically  a  large  man,  measuring  "six 
feet  one  inch  and  a  quarter"  in  height  and  weigh- 
ing "about  two  hundred  pounds."  He  has  dark- 
brown  hair,  deep  gray  eyes,  and  wears  a  mus- 


33°  SAM  URL    MINTURN    PECK. 

tache.  He  is  also  unmarried.  He  is  young-  and 
in  the  prime  of  health,  and  really  in  the  beginning 
of  his  literary  career.  What  he  has  already  done 
gives  promise  of  greater  things  in  the  future. 

Some  of  his  poems  have  become  favorites  with 
artists  and  book  lovers,  as  well  as  musical  com- 
posers and  the  reading  public  in  general.  And 
notably  among  these  is  that  exquisite  little  lyric 
entitled  "Among  My  Books/'  which  has  been 
especially  honored  by  an  amateur  book  lover,  Mr. 
William  L.  Andrews,  who  has  published  the  poem 
"with  twenty-seven  full-page  illustrations,  Bier- 
stadt  copy/'  at  the  marvelous  price  of  $49  a  copy. 
The  New  York  Times  Saturday  Review  says  of 
this  edition  de  luxe:  "  'Among  My  Books/  not 
offered  for  sale  in  the  regular  way,  was  made  in 
an  edition  of  fifty  copies.  It  is  the  one  of  An- 
drews's  books  above  all  others  which  the  present 
writer  has  always  wished  to.  own  and  has  never 
had  a  chance  to  see."  "Among  My  Books"  con- 
tains only  fifteen  lines,  and  may  be  given  here 
as  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  the  poet's  serious, 
earnest  work,  and  as  a  fitting  conclusion  to  this 
sketch : 

Among  my  books — what  rest  is  there 
From  wasting  woes !   What  balm  for  care 
If  ills  appall  or  clouds  hang  low 
And  drooping  dim  the  fleeting  show, 


SAMUEL    MINTURN    PECK.  33  f 

I  revel  still  in  visions  rare. 
At  will  I  breathe  the  classic  air 
The  wanderings  of  Ulysses  share ; 
Or  see  the  plume  of  Bayard  flow 
Among  my  books. 

Whatever  face  the  world  may  wear — 
If  Lilian  has  no  smile  to  spare, 
For  others  let  her   beauty  blow, 
Such  favors  I  can  well  forego, 
Perhaps  forget  the  frowning  fair 
Among  my  books. 


MADISON  CAWEIN. 

BY   WILLIAM    HENRY    HULME. 

"!T  is  a  pleasure  to  recognize  the  intellectual 
force  of  this  mature  mind,  and  it  is  with  equal 
but  different  joy  that  one  finds  both  promise  and 
performance,  fruit  and  flower,  in  an  unmistakably 
youthful  book.  .  .  .  There  is  much  that  is 
expressive  of  the  new  land  as  well  as  of  the  young 
life  in  his  richly  sensuous,  boldly  achieved  pieces 
of  color.  In  him  .  .  .  one  is  sensible  (or 
seems  to  be)  of  something  different  from  the 
beautiful  as  literary  New  England  or  literary 
New  York  has  conceived  it.  Here  is  a  fresh 
strain;  the  effect  of  longer  summers  and  wider 
horizons  ;  tne  wine  of  the  old  English  vine  planted 
in  another  soil,  and  ripened  by  a  sun  of  Italian 
fervor,  has  a  sweetness  and  fire  of  its  own.  This 
native  spirit  is  enveloped  in  flavors  too  cloying  for 
the  critical  palate  at  times,  but  one  can  easily 
fancy  the  rapture  it  must  have  for  a  reader  as 
young  as  the  poet."  Thus  wrote  William  Dean 
Howells,  in  his  characteristic  vein,  of  Madison 
Cawein  and  his  first  volume  of  poems,  more  than 
a  decade  ago.  Through  this  flattering  critique 
of  "Blooms  of  the  Berry,"  written  for  the  "Edi- 
(332) 


MADISON    CAVVEIN.  333 

tor's  Study"  of  Harper's  Magazine,  Mr.  Howells 
became  the  literary  sponsor  for  the  young  Ken- 
tucky poet  in  the  North  and  East.  Indeed,  if  we 
may  believe  one  of  Mr.  Cawein's  critics,  it  was 
Miss  Howells  who  first  called  her  father's  atten- 
tion to  the  new  book  of  poems,  announcing  one 
day  early  in  the  year  1888  that  she  had  "dis- 
covered a  new  poet."  Mr.  Cawein  afterwards 
met  Miss  Howells  many  times,  and  now  counts 
hers  among  his  "most  pleasant  literary  friend- 
ships." 

In  spite  of  Mr.  Howells' s  enthusiastic  advocacy 
of  the  early  volumes  of  Mr.  Cawein's  poetry, — and 
his  commendation  of  "The  Triumph  of  Music  and 
Other  Lyrics"  (1888)  and  "Accolon  of  Gaul" 
(1889)  was  no  less  glowing  than  was  that  of 
"Blooms  of  the  Berry," — it  was  several  years  be- 
fore the  poet  was  accorded  much  notice,  either  of 
praise  or  blame,  from  other  critics  of  America 
and  England.  On  this  point  Mr.  Cawein  writes 
in  a  letter  to  an  inquirer :  "  'Blooms  of  the  Berry' 
was  hardly  noticed  by  the  Louisville  press,  and 
almost  entirely  ignored  by  the  outside  press,  until 
in  the  'Editor's  Study'  of  Harper's  Magazine  for 
May,  1888,  Mr.  William  Dean  Howells  devoted 
an  entire  page  to  praise  of  the  book.  The  critics 
commenced  to  inquire  me  out  then,  but  I  do  not 


334  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

believe  that  any  one  of  them  endorsed  Mr.  How- 
ells  in  his  estimate  of  the  book's  merit.  Although 
I  was  at  that  time  very  much  discouraged  by  the 
cold  reception  given  to  my  first  book,  nevertheless 
I  found  heart  to  prepare  another  small  volume 
for  the  press  (/.  -e.,  The  Triumph  of  Music').  It, 
like  its  predecessor,  received  slight  consideration 
from  the  critics.  The  home  papers  seemed  to 
await  what  should  be  said  in  the  East,  and  the 
Eastern  critics  seemed  to  await  Mr.  Howells's 
word.  It  came  overwhelmingly  in  September  of 
the  same  year  (1888)  in  the  September  Study, 
where  something  like  three  pages  were  devoted 
to  the  most  lavish  praise  of  the  little  book.  No 
matter  what  he  said,  however,  it  could  not  bring 
the  other  critics  to  regard  my  book  as  deserving 
of  such  praise.  Mr.  Howells  was  criticised  both 
at  home  and  in  England  for  having  overestimated 
my  merit." 

Mr.  Howells  continued  to  find  unusual  beauty 
and  excellence,  in  his  notice  of  the  "Accolon  of 
Gaul"  saying,  among  other  things,  "It  is  as  if  we 
had  another  Keats,  or  as  if  that  fine,  sensitive 
spirit  had  come  again  in  a  Kentuckian  avatar  with 
all  its  tremulous  hunger  for  beauty."  During  the 
last  four  years  Mr.  Cawein's  work  has  become 
much  better  known,  and  has  been  receiving  more 


MADISON    CAWEIX.  335 

and  more  recognition  by  the  editors  of  literary 
magazines  and  journals.  He  has,  however,  never 
become  a  popular  poet ;  he  is  not  even  widely 
known  to  readers  of  poetry,  and  it  is  very  likely 
that  the  great  mass  of  cultured  and  "literary"  peo- 
ple in  America  have  never  heard  of  the  name  of 
Madison  Cavvein.  I  shall  attempt  in  the  course 
of  this  study  to  account  lor  some  of  the  causes, 
and  to  show  the  injustice,  of  this  neglect  of  one 
of  the  most  promising  of  America's  living  poets. 

Kentucky,  "the  dark,  and  bloody  ground,"  is 
doing  its  full  share  toward  the  creation  of  the 
great  period  of  American  literature.  From  the 
old  border  days,  when  the  famous  Daniel  Boone 
lived  thrilling  romances  in  his  daily  struggles 
with  the  Indians,  down  to  the  present  time,  when 
almost  even  "backwoods"  county  of  the  State  is 
the  arena  of  the  most  tragic  family  feuds,  ven- 
dettas, and  "moonshiner"  raids,  it  has  been  full 
of  the  materials  and  incidents  for  a  stirring  novel 
or  an  inspiring  poem.  That  Kentucky  produced 
little  literature  of  enduring  qualities  before  the 
War  of  Secession,  is  a  fact.  The  assertion  is  no 
truer  of  Kentucky  than  of  every  other  Southern 
State.  And  the  conditions  which  all  but  pre- 
vented the  production  of  literature  in  the  other 
States  of  the  South  were  equally  prevalent  in 


33^  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

their  sister  on  the  Ohio.  The  absence  of  village 
communities  with  the  attendant  grammar  school, 
college,  and  printing  press,  in  the  earlier  days ;  the 
presence  of  a  farming  class  with  large  plantations 
of  hemp  and  tobacco,  cultivated  by  negro  slaves, 
in  later  times,  thus  giving  too  much  leisure  and 
indolence  to  the  better  classes  of  society ;  and  the 
inherited  tradition  which  makes  it  degrading  and 
almost  disgraceful  for  the  Southern  gentleman 
of  the  old  regime  to  labor  with  either  hands  or 
brains,  except  in  the  field  of  politics ;  these  are  the 
most  important  causes  of  the  dearth  of  a  char- 
acteristic literature  in  the  Old  South.  While 
slavery  did  not  play  so-  great  a  role  in  the  society 
of  the  "Old  Kentucky  Home"  as  in  that  of  many 
other  Southern  States,  its  influence  was  never- 
theless very  appreciable.  And  the  fact  that  the 
Emancipation  Proclamation  snapped  the  cords 
that  bound  the  minds  of  the  Southern  gentlemen, 
as  well  as  the  bodies  of  their  negro  slaves,  and 
made  the  "Uncle  Remuses"  everywhere  the  legiti- 
mate subjects  of  literature  for  the  first  time,  cannot 
be  overestimated  in  the  benefits  which  it  has 
already  brought  and  is  still  bringing  to  the  Ken- 
tuckian  alike  with  the  Virginian  and  the  Georgian. 
However  this  may  be,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  any  other  State,  North  or  South,  East  or 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  337 

West,  can  today  claim  three  more  prominent  and 
promising  "men  of  literature"  than  James  Lane 
Allen,  Robert  Burns  Wilson,  and  Madison  Ca- 
wein.  These  three  have  been  mentioned  espe- 
cially, because  their  names  and  fame  have  been 
heralded  throughout  this  country,  and  are  hot 
unknown  in  England. 

Youngest  in  years,  if  not  in  the  maturity  of  his 
literary  genius,  of  this  notable  trio  is  Madison 
Julius  Cawein,  who  was  born  March  23,  1868,  in 
the  city  of  Louisville,  where  he  still  lives.  He 
received  his  early  education  in  the  public  schools 
of  his  native  city,  or  its  vicinity,  and  spent  several 
years  as  a  boy  in  the  country  not  far  from  Louis- 
ville and  New  Albany,  Ind.,  where  he  had  ample 
opportunities  for  observing  and  becoming  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  the  beauties  of  nature. 
"Here  he  learned  his  first  lessons  of  love  and 
poetry/'  He  received  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Arts  from  the  Louisville  High  School  after  a  five 
years'  course  of  study.  Though  not  a  college, 
the  High  School  offered  a  course  in  those  days 
which  was  as  thorough  and  comprehensive  as 
most  college  courses  of  four  years.  He  began 
to  write  poetry  as  a  schoolboy,  and  it  is  related 
of  him  that  he  used  "to  hurry  through  his  lessons 
in  order  to  be  able  to  compose  poetry  at  night. 

22 


33?  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

At  this  occupation  he  often  devoted  long  hours 
snatched  from  sleep,  frequently  remaining  up  until 
one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning."  Although 
the  most  of  these  early  effusions  were  destroyed 
long  ago,  they  are  said,  by  those  who  were  per- 
mitted to  see  them,  to  have  been  "full  of  sym- 
pathetic bits,"  in  spite  of  all  their  crudities.  He 
is  said  to  have  "excelled  in  the  languages,  and  he 
read  omnivorously  in  the  languages  at  his  com- 
mand." The  unmistakable  traces  of  his  broad 
reading  are  apparent  everywhere  in  his  poetry. 

Judging  from  photographs,  I  should  say  Mr. 
Cawein  has  the  personal  make-up  of  a  poet.  As 
an  enthusiastic  young  critic  says  of  him,  "his 
personal  characteristics  are  such  as  we  would 
choose  for  him.  He  is  of  the  medium  height, 
slight  and  bland.  His  manners  are  quiet,  except 
when  in  reading  his  own  compositions  he  displays 
considerable  intensity.  His  habits  and  hours  are 
regular,  and  he  works  hard,  finishing  all  his 
verse."  An  appreciative  friend  has  recently 
written  for  publication  the  following  pleasing 
description  of  him : 

"Personally  Mr.  Cawein  is  a  most  Denial  and 
pleasant  gentleman — companionable,  but  quiet, 
looking  the  scholar,  that  he  is,  in  every  respect. 
He  appears  to  have  read  everything  in  the  fields 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  339 

of  fiction  and  poetry — in  German  literature  and 
English  being  equally  well  informed.  He  quotes 
poetry,  from  Skakespeare  to  Tennyson,  more 
fluently  than  any  one  else  I  have  ever  heard.  He 
is  modest  and  unassuming,  but  elegant  in  person 
and  pleasing  in  manner ;  he  is  the  ideal  poet.  He 
is  an  undoubted  genius,  and  looks  it.  He  works 
as  Chatterton  worked,  as  with  a  hundred  hands ; 
and,  like  Byron,  he  never  rests  under  the  shadow 
of  his  laurels,  but  keeps  on  continually  striving 
and  achieving.  No  young  poet  of  our  day  has 
accomplished  so  much. 

"He  lives  a  quiet,  studious  life  in  an  elegant 
home  in  Louisville,  surrounded  with  books,  pic- 
tures, and  all  the  accessories  of  artistic  home  life. 
A  great  green  parrot  is,  I  believe,  his  only  pet; 
and  he  is  strongly  attached  to  it.  His  parents 
reside  with  him,  as  also  his  devoted  sister.  Taste 
and  refinement,  but  simplicity  and  ease  and  cul- 
ture, are  everywhere  evident  in  his  charming 
home.  He  is  fond  of  taking  long  walks  into  the 
country,  studying  the  beautiful  in  nature.  A 
leafy  retreat  reminds  him  of  the  lair  of  Pan.  A 
lovely  sunset  is  one  of  his  chief  delights;  old 
orchards  and  deep  woods  are  his  favorite  haunts ; 
a  joy  of  flowers  bedews  his  spirit  in  his  calmer 
hours ;  everything  beautiful  in  nature  and  art  is 


34°  MADISON     CAWEIN. 

of  absorbing  interest  to  him,  so  susceptible  is  his 
great  soul  to  the  beautiful  and  the  sublime." 

He  is  said  to  be  a  clubbable  man,  and  holds 
membership  in  the  best  local  social  organizations. 
He  long  since  became  the  hero  of  women's  clubs, 
which  meet  to  study  his  work,  and  the  poet  has 
some  amusing  stories  to  tell  about  the  demands 
which  they  make  upon  him  in  return  for  their 
allegiance.  The  secretary  of  one  such  organiza- 
tion "wrote  for  half  a  dozen  unpublished  poems 
and  a  set  of  his  books  !" 

Mr.  Cawein  is  represented  as  being  a  modest, 
unassuming  man,  who  has  had  many  interesting 
experiences  with  reporters  of  sensational  news- 
papers and  writers  for  pictorial  magazines.  He 
has  generally  complied  with  their  requests  for  de- 
tails concerning  his  own  life  and  work,  possibly 
with  an  eye  to  the  promotion  of  his  finances.  In 
the  following  statement,  made  by  the  poet  to  one 
of  these  reporters,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  humor- 
ous side  of  such  interviews  does  not  escape  him : 

"I  arise  in  the  morning  at  half-past  six,  usually 
read  a  half  hour  or  so  before  breakfast,  sometimes 
less  than  half  an  hour,  never  over ;  and  the  book 
I  read  is  customarily  an  historical  work  or  a  book 
of  essays,  or  such  like.  Then  breakfast,  and  I 
am  at  my  desk  by  half-past  seven  or  a  quarter  to 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  341 

eight,  where  I  usually  remain  two  hours ;  whether 
I  am  writing  or  translating  or  merely  musing, 
depends  always  upon  the  state  of  mind  I  am  in. 
Sometimes  I  produce,  at  others  merely  prune, 
rewrite  poems,  or  attend  to  my  correspondence. 
If  anything  is  too  importunate — a  poem  I  mean — 
and  will  out,  like  murder,  I  sit  at  my  desk  all 
day  until  a  rough  draft  of  it  at  least  is  finished. 
After  my  morning's  work,  I  take  a  long  walk  up 
town.  Then  home  by  twelve  or  later.  After  din- 
ner I  read,  or,  if  my  mood  so  incline,  take  a  stroll 
in  the  country — that  is,  when  the  weather  per- 
mits ;  in  the  evening,  perhaps  a  call,  or  the  theater 
of  which  I  am  very  fond.  (Sotto  voce:  I  don't 
see  how  all  this  stuff  can  possibly  interest  people, 
but  the  editors  say  it  does,  and  they  ought  to 
know.)  Sometimes  I  have  weeks  and  weeks  of 
barrenness  wherein  I  have  no  ideas  at  all,  and  feel 
that  the  faculty  of  producing  is  entirely  gone  from 
me.  Then  again  there  comes  a  period  of  produc- 
tion, wherein  I  write  much,  perhaps  too  much. 
I  am  never  satisfied  with  my  work,  or,  that  is, 
very  rarely.  When  it  is  published  I  can  often  see 
where  it  might  be  improved  greatly,  and  lament 
accordingly  my  haste  in  having  it  published." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Cawein  was  un- 
sparing in  the  censorship  and  destruction  of  his 


342  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

earliest  verses,  in  about  a  year  after  he  was  grad- 
uated from  the  Louisville  High  School  he  had 
accumulated  piles  of  poems.  "He  had  sufficient 
manuscript  at  that  time  to  make  two  large  vol- 
umes, but  after  making  a  careful  selection  of  what 
he  considered  fit  for  preservation,  he  destroyed 
the  discarded  heap  of  epics,  ballads,  and  lyrics, 
and  published  the  selected  pile  under  the  title  of 
'Blooms  of  the  Berry.' ':  After  the  publication  of 
this  first  volume  of  poems  in  1887,  which,  as  has 
been  noticed  already,  made  but  little  impression 
upon  the  critics,  the  poet  was  employed  for  several 
years  in  an  occupation  not  especially  congenial, 
one  would  suppose,  to  the  production  of  poetry. 
He  held  the  position,  "at  a  good  salary,  of  assistant 
cashier  and  accountant  in  a  race-horse  establish- 
ment," called  "The  Newmarket,"  where  the  pools 
were  sold  on  races  throughout  the  United  States. 
He  was  confined  very  closely  to  his  office,  remain- 
ing there  usually  "from  nine  in  the  morning  until 
nine,  and  often  eleven  o'clock,  in  the  evening." 
During  this  time  he  continued  to  write  poetry,  but 
he  was  forced  to  do  his  writing  in  the  "early 
morning — a  habit,"  he  says,  "which  I  got  into 
then,  and  have  never  been  able  to  get  out  of  since 
—between  the  hours  of  half-past  six  and  nine 
o'clock.".  He  also  did  some  translating  "from  the 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  343 

Latin  and  German  at  night,  when  the  office  busi- 
ness permitted,  surrounded  by  the  buzz  of  the 
betting  ring  and  the  calls  of  the  auctioneer  in  his 
stand  selling  pools  on  the  races."  Strange  to 
say,  his  muse  was  marvelously  productive  during 
the  five  or  six  years  of  his  employment  in  The 
Newmarket.  He  published  "The  Triumph  of 
Music"  (1888),  "Accolon  of  Gaul"  (1889) /'Lyr- 
ics and  Idyls"  (1890),  "Days  and  Dreams" 
(1891),  and  "Moods  and  Memories"  (1892), 
which  is  mainly  a  compilation  from  earlier  vol- 
umes. These  books  were  all  written  at  odd  hours 
while  the  poet  held  the  position  at  the  race  course. 
In  addition  to  these,  "Poems  of  Nature  and 
Love"  (1893),  which,  like  "Moods  and  Memo- 
ries," is  a  compilation  from  earlier  volumes,  "Red 
Leaves  and  Roses"  (1893),  and  "The  White 
Snake  and  Other  Translations"  (1895),  were 
written  and  prepared  for  publication  during  the 
same  short,  busy  period. 

By  the  end  of  these  years  of  apprenticeship  Mr. 
Cawein  had  begun  to  attract  the  notice  of  poets, 
critics,  and  publishers  of  magazines  in  America ; 
and  he  has  made  strong  friends  among  these 
literary  men,  of  whom  William  Dean  Howells  and 
James  Whitcomb  Riley  were  the  strongest.  The 
criticism  of  his  poetry,  favorable  and  otherwise, 


344  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

which  was  published  during  the  half  dozen  years 
after  he  began  his  literary  career  did  not  pass 
unnoticed  by  the  poet.  He  has  made  steady  and 
continual  improvement  in  style,  diction,  meter, 
and  harmony.  A  glance  at  "Moods  and  Mem- 
ories" and  "Poems  of  Nature  and  Love"  is  suf- 
ficient to  show  that  he  has  progressed  in  matters 
of  taste  since  the  appearance  of  the  early  volumes 
from  which  they  were  compiled  and  revised. 
Many  of  the  earlier  extravagant  verses  are  omit- 
ted; many  of  the  crudities  in  language  and  meter 
have  been  lopped  off. 

Since  he  gave  up  his  business  career  and  has 
devoted  all  his  time  and  energy  to  the  service  of 
the  muses,  the  improvement  in  his  workmanship 
has  been  even  more  marked.  He  has  been  grow- 
ing more  and  more  individual,  spontaneous,  and 
original.  Imitation  of  other  poetry  is  less  easily 
traceable  in  his  latest  volumes.  He  has  written 
during  the  last  three  or  four  years  more  short 
lyrics  and  fewer  long  narrative  and  descriptive 
poems.  The  artist  is  much  more  evident  in  "Inti- 
mations of  the  Beautiful"  ( 1894) ,  "The  Garden  of 
Dreams"  (1896),  "Undertones"  (1896),  "Shapes 
and  Shadows"  (1898),  "Idyllic  Monologues" 
(1898),  and  "Myth  and  Romance"  (1899),  than 
in  the  earlier  volumes. 


MADISON    CAW  El  N.  3-J5 

Mr.  Cawein  has  already  done  some  remarkably 
good  work  in  the  field  of  poetry,  but  the  constant 
improvement  which  he  has  been  showing  during 
the  twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  his  literary  life  is 
a  most  promising  characteristic  of  the  man.  It 
is  this  feature,  combined  with  a  large  mass  of 
excellent  poems  and  his  youthfulness,  which  leads 
us  to  hope  and  believe  that  Madison  Cawein  is 
destined  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  poets  that  Amer- 
ica has  yet  produced.  During  a  very  short  period 
he  has  not  only  shown  a  productivity  that  is  re- 
markable, indeed  unparalleled,  in  recent  years, 
"but  the  quality  of  his  verse  is  such  as  to  challenge 
the  favorable  attention  of  critics  both  in  our  own 
country  and  in  England/' 

Of  his  earlier  books  Mr.  Cawein  thinks  that 
"Red  Leaves  and  Roses"  (1893)  contains  some 
of  his  best  work ;  and  of  the  compilation,  "Poems 
of  Nature  and  Love,"  to  which  were  added  many 
entirely  new  poems  and  the  whole  dedicated  to 
Joaquin  Miller,  he  says :  "This  volume,  I  think, 
contains  some  of  my  best  imaginative  work,  and 
is  most  representative  of  myself."  The  "Accolon 
of  Gaul/'  which  appears  in  slightly  revised  form 
in  this  volume,  and  which  is  the  most  ambitious 
poem  that  he  has  yet  undertaken,  is  one  of  his 
favorites.  One  of  his  best  long  poems  is  tin- 


34^  MADISON    CAW  KIN. 

doubtedly  "Intimations  of  the  Beautiful,"  which 
appeared  in  the  volume  bearing  the  same  title  in 
1894.  The  poet  says  of  this  book:  "The  volume 
of  mine  which  I  prefer  to  all  others  is  the  one 
entitled  'Intimations  of  the  Beautiful ;'  the  long 
poem  in  it  is  my  best  mature  poem."  "The  Gar- 
den of  Dreams"  is  also  a  favorite  book  of  the  poet, 
and  he  thinks  that  "Myth  and  Romance"  is  tech- 
nically his  best  book.  "Undertones"  contains 
some  of  his  best  lyrical  work,  according  "to  the 
opinion  of  a  great  number  of  critics  and  friends." 
Mr.  Cawein  is  a  "great  tramper,"  and  he 
"knows  all  the  picturesque  Kentucky  country 
for  miles  about  the  city"  of  Louisville.  "His  books 
abound  in  the  description  of  these  scenes,"  arid 
"wood  and  water  sketches,  ruined  mills  and  de- 
serted," haunted  houses  are  found  frequently  in 
his  descriptive'  poems,  as  for  example,  "The 
Haunted  House :" 

The  shadows  sit  and  stand  about  its  door 

Like  uninvited  guests  and  poor ; 

And  all  the  long,  hot  summer  day 

A  grating  locust  dins  its  roundelay, 

And  the  shadows  seek  the  door ; 

or  in  "Along  the  Ohio :" 

Athwart  a  sky  of  brass  long  welts  of  gold; 

A  bullion  bulk  the  wide  Ohio  lies ; 
Beneath  the  sunset,  billowing  manifold, 

The  dark-blue  hilltops  rise ; 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  347 

and  again  in  'The  Hollow :" 

Fleet  swallows  soared  and  darted 

'Neath  empty  vaults  of  blue ; 
Thick  leaves  close  clung  or  parted 

To  let  the  sunlight  through ; 
Each  wild  rose,  honey-hearted, 

Bowed  full  of  living  dew ; 

and   in  these  striking  lines   from   "The   Ruined 
Mill:" 

Will  you  enter  with  me  when  the  evening  star 

In  the  saffron  heaven  is  sparkling,  afar 

In  all  of  its  glory  of  light,  divine 

As  a  diamond  drowned  in  kingly  wine  ? 

Or  when  the  heavens  hang  wild  and  gray, 

And  the  chilly  clouds  are  hurrying  away 

Like  the  driven  leaves  of  an  autumn  day? 

Then  the  night  rain  sounds  on  the  sodden  roof, 

And  the  spider  sleeps  in  its  dusty  woof; 

Then  the  wet  wind  whines  like  a  hound  that's  lashed, 

'Round  the  crazy  angles  whipped  and  dashed, 

Or  wails  in  a  cranny — and  she,  she  plays 

On  an  airy  harpsichord  old  lays, 

And  sings  and  sobs,  in  a  room  above, 

Of  a  vain  despair  and  a  blighted  love. 

A  favorite  retreat  of  the  poet  is  an  "old  aban- 
doned graveyard  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city, 
which  the  old  wives  have  filled  with  'ha'nts,' >: 
and  which  furnishes  the  background  for  several 
of  his  poems ;  for  example,  "The  Family  Burying 
Ground,"  where 


34^  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

A  wall  of  crumbling  stones  doth  keep 
Watch  o'er  long  barrows  where  they  sleep, 

Old,  chronicled  gravestones  of  its  dead, 
On  which  oblivion's  mosses  creep 

And  lichens  gray  as  lead; 

and 

Here  the  wild  morning-glory  goes 
A-rambling  where  the  myrtle  grows; 

Wild  morning-glories  pale  as  pain, 
With  holy  urns  that  hint  at  woes, 

The  night  hath  filled  with  rain. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  if  Mr.  Cawein  had  in 
the  beginning  held  a  tighter  rein  on  his  Pegasus, 
and  thus  prevented  him  from  soaring  so  high  and 
cutting  all  sorts  of  capers  in  his  soaring,  he  would 
have  made  a  much  better  impression  on  both 
critics  and  the  public.  If  he  had  only  been  con- 
tent with  publishing  one  half  the  poems  which  he 
actually  showered  upon  the  public  previous  to 
1895,  his  reputation  would  not  only  now  be  much 
more  extensive  than  it  actually  is,  but  also  far 
more  lasting.  Nevertheless,  his  first  two  or  three 
published  volumes  contains  a  large  number  of  ex- 
quisite golden  grains  in  a  heap  of  silvery  chaff. 
To  be  sure,  he  is  usually  too  verbose  and  too 
prolific  and  extravagant  in  the  creation  of  poetic 
images,  but  these  are  by  no  means  unmitigated 
faults  in  a  young  poet.  As  Mr.  Howells  says, 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  349 

in  criticising  one  of  his  earlier  poems :  "Caprices, 
conceits  if  you  will,  and  excesses,  as  is  the  case 
of  this  moon  doing  double  metaphoric  duty  on 
such  short  notice,  but  all  full  of  the  security  and 
courage  of  the  born  artist  who  dashes  his  color 
or  his  epithet  on,  and  leaves  it  to  approve  itself 
to  you  or  not  as  you  choose."  And  in  spite  of 
the  too  evident  traces  of  Tennyson  in  such  a 
poem  as  "Accolon  of  Gaul/'  many  passages  of 
which  make  one  feel,  because  they  are  so  well 
done,  that  they  would  better  never  have  been  done 
at  all,  the  poem  "abounds  in  splendors  such  as 
the  rich  fancy  of  Cawein  loves."  "We  have  to 
recognize  his  power  to  tell  a  story,"  says  Mr. 
Howells,  again,  "not  only  with  pictorial  sump- 
tuousness,  but  with  dramatic  strength.  There  is 
passion  galore  in  it,  ...  but  there  is  character 
too,  and  the  poet  knows  how  to  lead  on  to  a  su- 
preme moment,  as  when  Queen  Morgane  has 
sent  her  lover  Accolon  to  kill  Arthur,  and  hav- 
ing murdered  her  husband  against  his  return 

hears 

A  grind  of  steeds, 

Arms,  jingling  stirrups,  voices  loud  that  cursed 
Fierce  in  the  Northern  Court. 

When  all  has  been  said  that  should  be  said  in 
condemnation  of  the  glaring  faults  of  his  ear- 


35°  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

liest  volumes,  the  appreciative  reader  and  critic 
cannot  but  find  much  to  praise  and  enjoy;  and 
after  a  careful  reading  of  all,  the  bad  with  the 
good,  he  will  exult  in  the  discovery  in  this  Ken- 
tucky bard  of  not  a  few  of  the  essential  elements 
of  a  great  poet.  He  will  doubtless  feel  as  others 
have  felt,  that  Air.  Cawein's  "exuberance  will 
tame  itself  in  time,"  and  that  "he  will  learn  tem- 
perance and  self-denial,  which  are  as  good  in  the 
worship  of  the  beautiful  as  in  other  things." 
He  is  indeed  already  learning  these  valuable  les- 
sons, and  at  a  rapid  rate,  in  the  hard  school  .of 
everyday  experience. 

We  come  not  infrequently  upon  such  verses  in 
these  volumes  of  the  poet's  youth  as  the  following 
from  "Spring  Twilight:" 

As  from  faint  stars  the  glory  waned  and  waned, 
The  fussy  insects  made  the  garden  shrill ; 

Beyond  the  luminous  pasture-lands  complained 
One  lonely  whippoorwill ; 

or,  from  "The  Moon  rise  at  Sea :" 

With  lips  that  were  hoarse  with  a  fury 
Of  foam  and  of  winds  that  were  strewn, 

Of  storm  and  of  turbulent  hurry, 
The  ocean  roared,  heralding  soon 

A  birth  of  miraculous  glory, 

Of  madness,. affection — the  moon. 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  351 

These  lines,  though  full  oi  concetti,  are  certainly 
strongly  imaginative.  The  following  lines,  from 
"The  Tollman's  Daughter/'  are  picturesque  to 
say  the  least : 

For  her,  I  knew,  whate'er  she  trod, 
Each  dewdrop  raised  a  limpid  glass 
To  flash  her  beauty  from  the  grass ; 

That  wild  flowers  bloomed  along  the  sod, 

Or,  whisp'ring,  murmured  when  she  smiled ; 
The  wood-bird  hushed  to  hear  her  .song, 

Or,  all  enamored,  from  its  wild 
Before  her  feet  flew  flutt'ring  long. 

The  brook  droned  mystic  melodies, 
Eddied  in  laughter  when  she  kissed 
With  naked  feet  its  amethyst 

Of  waters  strained  by  blooming  trees. 

In  such  poems  as  "The  Limnad,"  "The  Dry- 
ad," "The  Dead  Oread,"  we  find  that  pecul- 
iar classical,  Hellenic  vein,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  characteristic  elements  of  Mr.  Cawein's 
genius.  And  what  striking  melody  he  is  capable 
of  extracting  from  a  collocation  of  unusual 
words ! 

In  the  vales  Auloniads, 
-    On  the  mountains  Oreads, 
On  the  leas  Leimoniads, 
Naked  as  the  stars  that  glisten ; 
Pan,  the  Satyrs,  Dryades, 
Fountain-lovely  Naiades, 


352  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

Foam-lipped  Oceanides, 
Breathless  'mid  their  seas  or  trees, 
Stay  and  stop  and  look  and  listen. 

This,  also  from  "The  Dead  Oread,"  is  cast  on 
Greek  lines: 

Her  calm,  white  feet,  erst  fleet  and  fast 

As  Daphne's  when  a  god  pursued, 
No  more  will  dance  like  sunlight  past 
The  gray-green  vistas  of  the  wood, 
'Where  every  quailing  floweret 
Smiled  into  life  where  they  were  set. 

And  "The  Dryad"  must  be  given  in  full  before 
I  undertake  the  discussion  of  the  local  coloring 
in  Mr.  Cawein's  poems : 

I  have  seen  her  limpid  eyes, 
Large  with  gradual  laughter,  rise 

Through  wild-roses'  nettles; 
Like  twin  blossoms  grow  and  stare — 
Then  the  hateful,  envious  air 

Whisked  them  into  petals. 

I  have  seen  her  hardy  cheek, 
Like  a  moral  coral,  leak 

Through  the  leafage  shaded 
Of  thick  Chickasaws ;  and  then,  . 
When  I  made  more  sure,  again, 

To  a  red  plum  faded. 

I  have  found  her  racy  lips, 
And  her  graceful  ringer  tips, 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  353 

But  a  haw  or  berry ; 
Glimmers  of  her  there  and  here, 
Just,  forsooth,  enough  to  cheer 

And  to  make  me  merry. 

Often  on  the  ferny  rocks 
Dazzling  rimples  of  loose  locks 

At  me  she  hath  shaken, 
And  I've  followed — all  in  vain  ! — 

They  had  trickled  into  rain, 

Sunlit,  on  the  braken. 

Once  her  full  limbs  flashed  on  me, 
Naked,  where  some  royal  tree 

Powdered  all  the  spaces 
With  wan  sunlight  and  quaint  shade. — 
Such  a  haunt  romance  hath  made 

For  haunched  satyr  races. 

There,  I  know,  hid  amorous  Pan; 
For  a  sudden  pleading  ran 

Through  the  maze  of  myrtle, 
And  a  rapid  violence  tossed 
All  its  flowerage — 'twas  the  lost 

Cooings  of  a  turtle. 

The  above  poem  is  one  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Ca- 
wein's  early  short  poems,  and  one  in  which  we 
may  easily  find  some  of  his  most  striking  pecul- 
iarities. He  has  been  called  a  Southern  poet, 
but  this  is  in  reality  true  only  in  so  far  as  it  refers 
to  the  external  circumstances  of  his  birth  and 
education,  and  present  dwelling"  place.  In  spirit 
23 


354  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

his  poetry  is  for  the  most  part  as  little  Southern 
as  it  is  American ;  and  as  little  American  as  it  is 
English.  The  late  John  Clark  Ridpath  once 
wrote  of  him  as  follows :  "Cawein  is  a  classicist. 
He  will  have  it  that  poems,  however  humble  the 
theme,  however  tender  the  sentiment,  shall  wear 
a  tasteful  Attic  dress.  I  do  not  intimate  that  Mr. 
Cawein's  mind  has  been  too  much  saturated  with 
the  classical  spirit,  or  that  his  native  instincts 
have  been  supplanted  with  Greek  exotics  and 
flo-wers  out  of  the  Renaissance,  but  that  his  own 
mental  constitution  is  of  a  classical  as  well  as  of 
a  romantic  mold."  Very  little  that  Mr.  Cawein 
has  written  may  be  called  an  "utterance  of  the 
New  South,"  or  the  Old  as  for  that.  "It  does 
not  have  the  marks  of  its  spirit/'  says  another 
critic;  "it  is  not  filled  with  the  poet's  anxiety  to 
have  been  born  in  future  times.  There  is  not  in 
it  the  love  of  the  eager  piercer  into  the  yet  un- 
seen. .  .  .  His  choice  of  subjects  and  the  manner 
of  treating  them  reveal  a  luxurious  joy  in  the 
remote  past.  Greece  and  her  gracious  fictions, 
the  Middle  Ages  with  their  awful  gloom  and 
equally  awful  splendors,  occupy  his  imagination 
so  entirely  that  we  cannot  fancy,  as  we  muse 
through  'Moods  and  Memories/  dwelling  on 
single  lines,  losing  ourselves  in  mazes  of  blossom- 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  355 

ing  word-gardens,  or  wandering  down  bright 
meadows  of  soft  sound — cannot  easily  believe 
that  we  are  in  America,  that  both  the  poet  and 
we,  the  readers,  belong  to  a  nation  palpitant  with 
a  vital  future,  bearing  like  Atlas  the  burden  on 
its  shoulders — the  colossal  burden  of  the  social 
and  political  hopes  of  man."  The  judgment 
here  passed,  if  somewhat  extreme  in  certain  as- 
sertions, is  on  the  whole  just.  There  is  little  or 
no  Southern,  not  to  say  Kentucky,  atmosphere 
in  Mr.  Cawein's  poetry.  His  flowers  and  birds 
and  rocks  and  trees  do  not  appear  to  us  as  ob- 
jects of  the  rich,  warm  Southern  nature.  He 
frequently  mentions  the  whole  register  of  flowers 
and  birds  in  his  poetry, — almost,  we  might  say, 
drags  them  into  his  descriptions  by  force, — but 
he  has  not  created  a  warm,  genial,  Southern 
poetic  atmosphere  in  which  they  may  thrive,  and 
thus  sweeten  their  environment  with  the  most 
delicious  fragrance  or  entrance  it  with  the  carols 
of  liquid  music.  It  is  not  the  all-important  thing 
that  one  should  constantly  be  reading  the  names 
of  "Southern  growths  of  nature  and  society." 
"A  photographic  camera  has  no  right  to  the  name 
Southern  because  it  takes  Southern  landscapes 
and  faces ;  it  remains  forever  unaffected  by  the 
quality  of  what  it  sees  and  serves  to  reproduce. 


356  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

A  poem  is  not  a  Southern  poem  because,  forsooth, 
it  tells  us  o-f  cotton  fields  and  fence  riders;  of 
mules  and  darkies;  of  cape  jasmines,  japonicas, 
magnolias;  of  stretches  of  calm  water  walled  in 
by  luxurious  swamp ;  of  mosses  that  trail  from 
hoary  boughs ;  of  herons  and  the  quiver  of  sum- 
mer heat/'  In  "The  Old  Byway"  we  have  a 
most  luxurious  intermingling  of  the  names  of 
Southern  objects  of  nature  : 

Its  rotting  fence  one  scarcely  sees 
Through  sumach  and  wild  blackberries, 

Thick  elder  and  the  white  wild  rose, 
Big  ox-eyed  daisies  where  the  bees 

Hang  droning  in  repose. 

The  limber  lizards  glide  away 
Gray  on  its  moss  and  lichens  gray ; 

The  butterflies  float  in  the  sun, 
Gay  Ariels  of  the  lonesome  day ; 

And  there  the  ground-squirrels  run. 

And  there  are  in  this  poem  isolated  miniatures 
of  rare  excellence  and  beauty.  It  reminds  us  of 
Mr.  Edgar  Fawcett's  butterfly  whose  wing  is  a 
"turmoil  of  rich  dyes."  Here,  and  frequently 
elsewhere,  as  Mr.  Howells  says,  Mr.  Cawein 
"seems  like  the  painter  Monticelli  to  have  given 
you  his  palette  instead  of  a  picture." 

But  to  return  to  the  specific  point  in  question. 


MADISON    CAWE1N.  357 

"What  makes  a  poet  Southern  is  that  the  tone 
of  his  voice  caresses  these  objects,  or  objects 
foreign  to  his  land,  in  a  characteristically  South- 
ern way :  and  though  he  may  feed  on  the  poetic 
products  of  all  climes,  ...  he  rejects  what  does 
not  suit  him,  and  transmutes  as  nutriment  what- 
ever suits  him  into  genuinely  Southern  blood 
and  brawn.  But  the  test  of  thorough  assimila- 
tion is  to  be  sought  in  the  absolute  disappearance 
of  the  distinctive  nature  of  each  influence,  the 
total  loss  even  of  the  entire  chorus  of  influences 
in  the  rich,  individual,  dominant  voice  of  the 
profiler  by  all" 

It  may  be  answered  to  all  this  that  perhaps 
the  poet  has  not  aimed  to  be  characteristically 
Southern.  Goethe  was  by  no  means  German  ac- 
cording to  the  eighteenth  century  conception  of 
the  word ;  he  was,  and  probably  strove  to  be,  cos- 
mopolitan. He  did  not  write  for  an  age  or  a 
nation,  but  for  all  time  and 'for  the  whole  world. 
So  it  may  be  that  Mr.  Cawein  has  looked  out  into 
the  world  far  beyond  the  confines  of  the  South 
or  of  America.  In  his  aspirations  to  attain  to  the 
beautiful  in  his  poetry,  he  has  possibly  been  too 
frequently  spirited  away,  Faust-like,  under  the 
demonic  guidance  of  his  muse,  to  browse  at  will 
on  the  rich  poetic  meadows  of  the  world's  lit- 


MADISON    CAWEIN. 

eratures.  I  certainly  do  not  consider  it  a  fault 
or  weakness  of  the  poet  that  there  is  so  little 
Southern  sentiment  in  his  verses. 

Mr.  Cawein  has  been  called  the  "Keats  of 
Kentucky/'  the  "Omar  Khayyam  of  the  Ohio 
Valley,"  and  the  like.  "It  is  as  if  we  had  another 
Keats/'  says  Mr.  Howells.  "He  takes  delight 
in  the  East.  He  is  the  Omar  Khayyam  of  the 
Ohio  Valley.  He  is  as  much  of  a  Mohammedan 
as  a  Christian.  He  knows  the  son  of  Abdallah 
better  than  he  knows  Cromwell;  and  has  more 
sympathy  with  a  kalif  than  with  a  colonel/1 
writes  Mr.  Ridpath.  And  such  expressions  are 
clear  and  illuminating,  or  vague  and  meaning- 
less, according  as  one  is  more  interested  in,  or 
better  acquainted  with,  Keats,  Khayyam,  Tenny- 
son, or  Browning.  The  Tennyson  enthusiast,  at 
least,  might  be  justified  in  calling  him  the  Ten- 
nyson of  Kentucky,  for  no  other  poet  has  made 
his  influence  more  strikingly  felt  in  Mr.  Cawein's 
compositions  than  has  the  author  of  "In  Memo- 
riam."  The  suggestion  and  disposition  of  ma- 
terials in  "Accolon  of  Gaul"  and  "The  Broth- 
ers" recall  forcibly  the  "Idyls  of  the  King"  and 
"Enoch  Arden ;"  and  "Intimations  of  the  Beauti- 
ful," the  poet's  favorite  nature  poem,  literally 
teems  with  lines  and  stanzas  that  recall  Tennv- 


MADISON    CAWE1N.  359 

son.     Who,  for  instance,  can  read  lines  like  these 
without  thinking  of  "In  Memoriam"  ? 

I  hold  them  here ;  they  are  no  less ; 

I  see  them  still — the  changeful  grays 

Of  threatening  skies  above  the  haze — 

My  hills !  that  roll  long,  murmuring  miles 

Of  savage-painted  wilderness, 

On  which  the  saddened  sunlight  smiles ; 

or : 

Into  my  soul  the  litanies 
Of  life  and  death  strike  golden  bars ; 
I  hear  the  far,  responding  stars, 
That  voice  the  multiplying  skies, 
Reverberate  from  cause  to  cause 
Results  that  terminate  in  man ; 
From  world  to  world,  the  rounding  plan 
Of  change,  that  circumstance  began, 
Of  which  both  life  and  death  are  laws ; 

or  again : 

Behold,  the  winds  have  speech  and  speak ! 

The  stars  of  heaven  are  eloquent ! 
A  voice  within  us  bids  us  seek 

The  word  the  flowers  write  with  scent. 

Mr.  Cawein  shows  likewise  frequent  and  un- 
mistakable traces  of  Browning  in  the  obscurity 
of  many  passages  and  poems,  and  in  a  kind  of 
disregard  for  exquisite  harmony  and  music,  es- 
pecially in  his  early  poems.  He  recalls  Poe  now 
and  then  both  in  his  weird,  uncanny  images, — 


MADISON    CAWE1N. 

the  employment  of  which  is  a  glaring  fault  of 
his  early  poems  and  of  too  frequent  occurrence  in 
his  latest  volumes, — and  in  the  use  of  the  "rep- 
etend."  The  latter  peculiarity  abounds  in  his 
poem  'The  Triumph  of  Music:" 

So  I  wept  on  the  instrument  broken, 
The  instrument  sweet  of  his  death, 
The  dagger  that  stabbed  not  to  kill  him, 
The  dagger  of  song  which  had  spoken 
And  ravished  away  his  life's  breath. 

Milton's  influence  is  apparent  in  some  of  Mr. 
Cawein's  early  attempts  at  blank  verse,  like  these 
lines  from  "The  Punishment  of  Loke :" 

Then  thro'  the  blackness  of  the  dripping  cave 
Tumultuous  spake  he,  rage  his  utterance; 
Large  as  the  thunder  when  it  lunging  rolls, 
Heavy  with  earthquake  and  portending  ruin, 
Tempestuous  words  o'er  everlasting  seas 
Dumb  with  the  silence  of  eternal  ice. 

He  has,  however,  shown  himself  to  be  a  most 
successful  manipulator  of  this  peculiarly  difficult 
and  peculiarly  English  form  of  versification,  and 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  he  has  not  essayed  it 
more  frequently  in  his  latest  volumes.  There 
are  also  traces  to  be  discovered  now  and  then  of 
the  influence  of  other  poets  with  whom  Mr.  Ca- 


MADISON    CAVVEIN.  361 

wein  is  so  familiar ;  for  instance,  Shelley,  Heine, 
Burger,  and  Goethe,  of  the  last  of  whom  he  says 
in  a  letter  to  the  present  writer:  "I  never  get 
over  wondering  at  the  mystery  and  majesty  of 
Goethe's  Taust;'  the  second  part  especially, 
which,  in  my  opinion,  is  one  of  the  greatest  poems 
ever  written/' 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  his  early  poetry  is  too 
largely  a  reflection  of  the  sentiments  and  style 
of  greater  poets  whose  works  he  has  read  and 
unconsciously  absorbed ;  and  perhaps  "remem- 
bering his  days  of  apprenticeship  too  vividly, 
yields  far  too  humble  a  submission." 

But  the  greater  part  of  these  striking  similar- 
ities to,  and  sometimes  almost  painful  repro- 
ductions from,  earlier  masterpieces  are  prominent 
only  in  the  poems  of  his  youth.  His  last  three 
or  four  volumes  are  with  very  few  exceptions  in- 
dividual and  original.  He  has  succeeded  in 
breaking  away  from  the  spell  of  all  these  mas- 
ters— except,  possibly,  Keats.  A  critic  writing 
of  his  poetry  in  1893  said,  "We  are  inclined  to 
say  that  many  of  Mr.  Cawein's  happiest  expres- 
sions and  most  poetical  lines  are  to  be  found  in 
pieces  inspired  directly  by  Keats;"  and  he  then 
passed  the  early  poems  under  careful  review, 
pointing  out  those  lines  and  passages  which  are 


32  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

modeled  after-  "the  sweetest  of  sweet  singers." 
More  than  a  passing  reference  to  this  criticism 
would  not  be  in  place  now,  as  the  poet  has  dis- 
carded so  many  of  the  faults  of  imitation  which 
were  apparent  before  1893.  ^nd  yet,  we  must 
confess  there  is  still  to  be  found  in  his  work 
"something  of  the  same  rich  quality,  the  same 
profusion  of  color,  and  something  of  the  same 
delicacy"  as  in  Keats.  Like  Keats,  he  is  a  Greek 
through  and  through ;  in  his  imagination  as  in 
that  of  Keats  the  essence  of  beauty  in  the  ab- 
stract takes  on  the  most  delightful  concrete 
forms.  He  is  not,  like  Shelley,  ever  striving  to 
grasp  and  portray  in  words  an  evanescent,  elu- 
sive ideal  of  abstract  beauty.  His  ideals  are  of 
the  earth,  earthy ;  and  sometimes  he  lets  these 
qualities  of  the  imagination  have  too  much  sway 
in  his  descriptions, — they  become  voluptuous. 

The  poet  recognizes  fully  the  importance  of 
this  Keats  vein  in  his  genius,  which  it  seems  im- 
possible for  him  to  overcome.  "I  cannot  tell  why 
it  is,"  he  says,  "that  I,  in  my  style  as  well  as 
coloring,  remind  people  of  Keats.  I  have  never 
been  Keats-crazy  at  any  time;  I  have  read  him 
and  'enthused'  over  him  greatly,  but  never  as  I 
have  over  Tennyson  and  Browning.  Shakes- 
peare and  Milton — especially  the  Shakespeare 


MADISON    CAVVEIN.  363 

of  The  Tempest  and  the  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,  and  the  Milton  of  Comus — have  exer- 
cised more  influence  over  me  than  Keats.  But, 
when  I  come  to  examine  into  my  manner  and 
method,  I  do,  I  regret  to  say,  discover  a  wonder- 
ful similarity  between  my  work  and  that  of 
Keats.  I  cannot  account  for  it  all.  It  has  been 
years,  ten  or  twelve  at  least,  since  I  read  all  of 
Keats." 

When  it  is  said  that  the  spirit  of  Mr.  Cawein's 
poetry  is  preponderatingly  Hellenic,  the  inference 
is  not  to  be  made  that  the  subjects  of  his  poems 
are  drawn  more  from  the  classical  than  from  the 
mediaeval  or  modern  world.  There  is  in  his 
poetry  a  remarkable  blending  of  the  myths  of 
classical  antiquity  with  those  of  the  romantic 
Middle  Ages.  "The  legendary  lore  of  the  old 
and  the  new  world  is  drawn  upon"  freely.  "He 
gives  us  pictures  in  verse  of  nearly  every  age 
and  clime,"  and  none  of  these  are  more  vivid  and 
striking  than  such  as  are  taken  from  the  Scan- 
dinavian mythology,  as  for  instance,  "Jotunheim" 
in  the  latest  volume,1  entitled  "Myth  and  Ro- 
mance :" 

1  Since  this  was  written,  at  least  one  new  volume  has 
appeared  from  Mr.  Cawein's  pen. 


364  MADISON    CAWEliN. 

O  wondrous  house  built  by  supernal  hands 

In  vague  and  ultimate  lands ! 

Thy  architects  were  behemoth  wind  and  cloud, 

That,  laboring  loud, 

Maintained  thy  world  foundations  and  uplifted 

The  skyey  bastions  drifted- 

Of  piled  eternities  of  ice  and  snow ; 

Where  storms,  like  plowman,  go, 

Plowing  the  deeps  with  awful  hurricane ; 

Where,  spouting  icy  rain, 

The  huge  whale  wallows ;  and  through  furious  hail 

Th'  explorer's  tattered  sail 

Drives  like  the  wing  of  some  terrific  bird, 

Where  wreck  and  famine  herd. 

We  find  among  his  poems  a  story  in  verse  of 
English  Cavalier  life  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
"The  Moated  Manse;"  a  story  of  the  War  be- 
tween the  States  in  "The  Brothers ;"  poems 
founded  on  incidents  of  early  Kentucky  history, 
as  "How  They  Brought  Aid  to  Bryan's  Sta- 
tion ;"  poems  descriptive  of  tropical  foliage  and 
Southern  waters,  and  others  that  tell  of  the 
frozen  North,  "Home  of  the  Red  Auroras  and 
the  Gods."  There  are  poems  touching  upon 
colonial  and  aboriginal  subjects ;  poems  peopled 
by  fairies,  pixies,  gnomes,  elves,  and  fays ;  so 
varied  are  the  themes  he  employs. 

The  poet  has  also  shown  a  deep  interest  in 
Oriental  life.  Persian  legends  are  celebrated  in 


MADJSON    CAWE1N.  365 

his  songs,  and  other  parts  of  the  East,  with  their 
enchantment  and  necromancy,  seem  to  have  exr 
erted  a  powerful  influence  on  him.  As  a  recent 
critic  has  said,  "He  celebrates  the  times  of  Ha- 
roun  Alraschid;  afrites  and  magicians,  eunuchs 
and  slaves,  houris  and  dancing  girls  pirouette 
through  the  Arabian  splendor  of  his  verse."  Lis- 
ten to  the  enchanting  strains  of— 

I  doze  in  the  wood  and  the  scent 

Of  the  honeysuckle  is  blent 

With  the  spice  of  a  Sultan's  tent, 

And  my  dream  with  the  East's  enmeshed; 

A  slave  girl  sings  and  I  hear 

The  languor-  of  lute  strings  near, 

And  a  dancing  girl  of  Cashmere, 

In  the  harem  of  good  Er  Raschid ; 

or  again : 

And  had  we  lived  in  the  days 
Of  the  Kalif  Haroun  Er  Raschid, 
We  had  loved  as,  the  story  says, 
Did  the  Sultan's  favorite  one 
Ami  the  Persian  Emperor's  son 
Ali  Ben  Bekkar,  he 
Of  the  Kisra  dynasty. 

He  has,  indeed,  as  has  been  remarked  by  others, 
"a  harp  of  many  strings."  The  scenes  of  his 
poems  are  laid  in  all  noted  countries  of  song, — in 
Persia.  Greece,  Spain,  England,  Italy.  America ; 


MADISON    CAWEIN. 

but  lie  has  not  always  succeeded  in  giving 
to  each  poem  its  "own  proper  local  coloring." 
One  of  the  most  striking  defects  of  much  of  his 
poetry  is  the  absence  of  a  congenial  atmosphere. 
That  the  poet  is  incapable  of  creating  the  suitable 
spiritual  and  local  setting  for  his  poems,  no  one 
who  is  acquainted  with  a  large  number  of  the 
best  of  them  can  justly  say;  but  that  he  does 
fail  in  these  points  not  infrequently  is  beyond 
dispute. 

Mr.  Cawein  has  tried  his  hand  at,  and  in  a 
measure  attained  success  in,  almost  every  form  of 
verse  known  to  modern  poets.  Nor  has  he  been 
content  always  to  follow  calmly  in  the  weather- 
beaten  tracks  of  former  poets  in  the  kinds  of 
verse  which  he  employs.  He  frequently  shows 
here  as  in  many  other  points  clear  proof  of  orig- 
inality and  strong  individuality.  He  has  not 
yet  attempted  anything  in  the  line  of  the  drama, 
but  we  find  among  his  published  poems,  epics, 
ballads,  lyrics,  sonnets,  quatrains,  rondels,  the 
Spenserian  stanza,  blank  verse,  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  entirely  original  meters.  He  is  one  of 
the  most  finished  and  melodious  sonneteers  that 
has  appeared  in  English  literature  during  the 
last  fifty  years.  Although  his  language  is  not 
so  chaste  as  that  of  Milton's  sonnet  and  the 


MADISON    CAVVEIN.  367 

tone  not  so  serious  as  we  find  in  the  best  of 
Wordsworth,  he  does  crowd  a  wealth  of  imagery 
into  the  short  space  of  many  of  his  sonnets.  In 
general  the  rhythm  is  smooth  and  the  music  of 
his  sonnets  contains  fewer  harsh  notes  and  other 
crudities  than  are  to  be  found  in  any  other  single 
kind  of  verse  that  he  has  tried.  His  character- 
istic love  for  gorgeousness,  so  noticeable  in  his 
early  poetry,  sometimes  stains  the  upper  hand  in 
the  sonnets.  He  seems  to  have  begun  the  writing 
of  sonnets  in  earnest  about  1895,  since  very  few 
are  to  be  found  in  the  volumes  which  appeared 
before  1896.  There  are  several  in  the  little  vol- 
ume called  "Undertones,"  of  which  "Midwinter" 
is  about  the  best : 

All  day  the  clouds  hung  ashen  with  the  cold  ; 

And  through  the  snow  the  muffled  waters  fell ; 

The  day  seemed  drowned  in  grief  too  deep  to  tell, 

Like  some  old  hermit  whose  last  bead  is  told. 

At  eve  the  wind  woke,  and  the  snow-clouds  rolled 

Aside  to  leave  the  fierce  sky  visible ; 

Harsh  as  an  iron  landscape  of  wan  hell 

The  dark  hills  hung  framed  in  with  gloomy  gold. 

And  then,  toward  night,  the  wind  seemed  some  one  at 

My  window  wailing:  now  a  little  child 

Crying  outside  the  door ;  and  now  the  long 

Howl  of  some  starved  beast  down  the  flue.    I  sat 

And  knew  'twas  Winter  with  his  madman  song 

Of  miseries,  whereon  he  stared  and  smiled. 


368  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

But  the  "Garden  of  Dreams'1  contains  a  larger 
number  of  sonnets  than  any  one  of  Mr.  Cawein's 
volumes.  From  half  a  dozen  beautiful  ones  we 
select  "The  Hillside  Grave:" 

Ten  hundred  deep  the  drifted  daisies  break 
Here  at  the  hill's  foot ;  on  its  top,  the  wheat 
Hangs  meager-bearded ;  and,  in  vague  retreat, 
The  wisp-like  blooms  of  the  moth-mulleins  shake. 
And  where  the  wild-pink  drops  a  crimson  flake, 
And  morning-glories,  like  young  lips,  make  sweet 
The  shaded  hush,  low  in  the  honeyed  heat, 
The  wild-bees  hum ;  as  if  afraid  to  wake 
One  sleeping  there  ;  with  no  white  stone  to  tell 
The  story  of  existence ;  but  the  stem 
Of  one  wild-rose,  towering  o'er  brier  and  weed, 
Where  all  the  day  the  wild-birds  requiem ; 
Within  whose  shade  the  timid  violets  spell 
An  epitaph,  only  the  stars  can  read. 

"Arcanna,"  "Spring,"  "Transformation,"  "Aban- 
doned," "The  Covered  Bridge,"  are  sonnets  of 
the  same  volume,  equally  worthy  of  quotation. 
The  -sonnet  entitled  "At  Twenty-one"  is  a  strik- 
ing example  of  the  lengths  to  which  Mr.  Cawein 
sometimes  goes,  even  in  his  recent  volumes,  in 
the  use  of  extravagant  conceits,  overdrawn  meta- 
phors, and  similes. 

The  rosy  hills  of  her  high  breasts, 
Whereon,  like  misty  morning,  rests 


MADISON    CAVVEIN.  369 

The  breathing  lace  J  her  auburn  hair, 
Wherein,  a  star  point  sparkling  there, 
One  jewel  burns;  her  eyes,  that  keep 
Recorded  dreams  of  song  and  sleep ; 
Her  mouth,  with  whose  comparison 
The  richest  rose  were  poor  and  wan. 

These  are  extravagances  worthy  of  the  most 
florid  love  lyrist  of  the  reign  of  James  I.  There 
is  also  a  sort  of  refined  "animalism"  apparent 
in  the  poem,  which  is  of  too  frequent  occurrence 
in  Mr.  Cawein's  verses.  This  quality  too  often 
mars  the  beauty  of  an  otherwise  exquisite  com- 
position;  as,  for  instance,  "Dionysia." 

The  poet  has  written  not  a  few  lovely  poems 
of  the  lyric  kind — bright,  sparkling,  and  dainty 
little  masterpieces,  all  well  worth  reading  and 
remembering.  Such,  for  instance,  is  "When 
Lydia  Smiles :" 

When  Lydia  smiles,  I  seem  to  see 
The  walls  around  me  fade  and  flee; 
And,  lo,  in  haunts  of  hart  and  hind 
I  seem  with  lovely  Rosalind, 
In  Arden  'neath  the  greenwood  tree ; 

or  "A  Ballad  of  Sweethearts,"  beginning, 

Summer  may  come,  in  sun-blonde  splendor, 
To  reap  the  harvest  that  Springtime  sows ! 

24 


37°  MADJSON    CAWEIN. 

or,  again,  the  incomparable  little  'Three  Birds; 

A  redbird  sang  upon  the  bough 

When  wind-flowers  nodded  in  the  dew  ; 

My  spring  of  bird  and  flower  wast  thou, 
O  tried  and  true ! 

A  brown  bird  warbled  on  the  wing 

When  poppy  buds  were  hearts  of  heat ; 

I  wooed  thee  with  a  golden  ring, 
O  sad  and  sweet ! 

A  blackbird  twittered  in  the  mist 
When  nightshade  blooms  were  filled 
with  frost; 

The  leaves  upon  my  grave  are  whist, 
O  loved  and  lost ! 

or,  finally,  "Legendary  :"  , 

It  was  a  gipsy  maiden 

Within  the  forest  green ; 
It  was  a  gipsy  maiden 

Who  shook  the  tambourine : 
The  star  of  eve  had  not  the  face, 
The  woodland  wind  had  not  the  grace 

Of  Flamencine. 

Her  bodice  was  of  purple, 

Her  shoes  of  satin  sheen  ; 
Her  bodice  was  of  purple 

With  scarlet  laid  between  : 
The  dew  of  dusk  was  in  the  tread, 
The  black  of  night  was  on  the  head 

Of  Flamencine, 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  371 

To  these  may  be  added  such  poems  as  "Es- 
oteric," "Mnemonics,"  "The  Naiad,"  "The  Dead 
Faun,"  "Apollo,"  "Noera,"  "Strollers,"  "Dolce 
far  Niente,"  and  many  more  of  equal  excellence. 

The  poet  has  in  recent  years  been  very  success- 
ful in  writing  pithy,  aphoristic,  and  at  the  same 
time  melodious,  quatrains.  Several  of  these  were 
published  in  'The  Garden  of  Dreams,"  and  a 
still  larger  number  in  "Myth  and  Romance." 
Some  of  the  best  of  these  quatrains  are  "Melan- 
choly :" 

With  shadowy  immortelles  of  memory 

About  her  brow,  she  sits  with  eyes  that  look 

Upon  the  stream  of  Lethe  wearily, 

In  hesitant  hands  Death's  partly  opened  book; 

and  "Dreams :" 

They  mock  the  present  and  they  haunt  the  past, 

And  in  the  future  there  is  naught  agleam 
With  hope,  the  soul  desires,  that  at  last 

The  heart  pursuing  does  not  find  a  dream. 

• 

On  the  whole  Mr.  -Cawein  has  not  scored  a 
marked  success  with  his  long  poems.  His  youth- 
ful "Accolon  of  Gaul"  is  probably  the  best  of 
these.  Their  most  glaring  defect  is  a  lack  of 
unity.  There  is  no  central,  absorbingly  inter- 
esting thread  running  through  any  of  these 


372  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

poems  except  the  "Accolon"  and  "The  Brothers." 
From  "The  Triumph  of  Music"  on  through  "One 
Day  and  Another,"  "Wild-thorn  and  Lily,"  "In- 
timations of  the  Beautiful,"  and  the  rest  of  his 
long  poems,  he  has  been  able  to  interest  and 
delight,  not  by  means  of  the  story  which  he 
has  incorporated  in  his  verses,  but  through  iso- 
lated passages  and  stanzas  of  surpassing  beauty. 
He  seems  to  lose  himself  over  some  exquisite 
thought,  in  elaboration  of  which  he  too  frequent- 
ly forgets  that  he  started  out  to  tell  a  tale.  In 
all  these  tales  we  come  ever  and  anon  upon  sin- 
gle passages  and  stanzas  which  in  themselves 
are  equal  to  anything  the  poet  has  written.  But 
he  is  usually  very  weak  in  the  power  of  concentra- 
tion and  coordination.  There  are  a  half  dozen 
or  more  ballads,  both  long  and  short,  which  are 
notable  exceptions,  and  which  show  that  he  can 
make  his  tales  consumingly  interesting,  and  fill 
them  with  passion  and  poetic  fire  besides. 

A  few  of  the  isolated  beauties  of  Mr.  Cawein's 
longer  poems  may  be  noted.  In  "One  Day  and 
Another"  there  are  several  passages,  not  to  men- 
tion individual. lines  and  couplets  galore;  one  of 
these  is  an  exquisite  song  from  elfland : 

An  elf  there  is  who  stables  the  hot 
Red  wasp  that  stings  o'  the  apricot, 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  373 

Another  passage  begins   with  the  stanza  which 
has  been  quoted  above : 

And  had  we  lived  in  the  days 
Of  the  Kalif  Haroun  er  Reschid. 

What  striking  lines  are, 

Song  is  soul  that  overfloweth ; 
or, 

The  stars  above  and  every  star  a  dream; 

and   what    a    vivid    picture    is   in   the    following 
stanza : 

The  sun  a  splintered  splendor  was 
In  sober  trees  that  broke  and  blurred, 
That  afternoon  we  went  together 
In  droning  hum  and  whirling  buzz, 
Where  hard  the  dinning  locust  whirred 
Through  fields  of  golden-rod  a-feather. 

No  one  who  is  not  a  true  poet  could  have  written, 

Colors,  we  have  lived,  are  cherished ; 

Odors,  we  have  been,  are  ours ; 
Entity  alone  has  perished ; 

Beauty-nourished  souls  were  flowers. 

Music,  when  the  fancy  guesses, 
Lifts  us  loftier  thoughts  among; 

Spirit  that  the  flesh  distresses, 
But  expresses  self  with  song; 

or,  again : 

Our  dreams  are  never  otherwise 
Than  real  if  they  hold  us  so; 


374  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

and, 

What  king  such  king's  pomp  can  show 

As  on  the  hills  the  afterglow? 

Where  mid  red-woods  the  maples  sit,  etc. ; 

and  the  following  passage  from  "Intimations  of 
the  Beautiful,"  beginning  with  the  stanza : 

Beyond  the  violet-colored  hill 
The  golden-deepened  daffodil 
Of  dusk  bloomed  out  with  thrill  on  thrill : 
And,  drifting  west,  the  crescent  moon 
Gleamed  like  a  sword  of  scanderoon 
A  satrap  dropped  on  floors  of  gold ; 
Near  which — one  loosened  gem  that  rolled 
Out  the  jeweled  Scimitar — 
The  evening  star. 

Conceits,  to  be  sure;  but  the  conceits  of  a  charm- 
ing artist  of  color  effects!  Another  beautiful 
short  passage  is  that  beginning, 

Among  the  woods  they  call  to  me — 
The  lights  that  lie  in  rock  and  stream. 

And  how  nobly  fantastic  the  following : 

Pure  thought-creations  of  the  mind, 
Within  the  circle  of  the  soul — 
The  emanations  that  control 
Life  to  its  God-predestined  goal — 
Are  spirit  shapes  no  flesh  can  bind : 
Within  the  soul  desire  ordains 


MADISON    CAWEIN.  375 

Achievements  which  the  will  obtains ; 
And  far  above  us,  on  before, 
Our  thoughts — a  beautiful  people — soar, 
To  wait  us  on  the  celestial  plains. 

We  might  find  many  beautiful  selections  in  "A 
Reed  Shaken  With  the  Wind"  and  "Intimations," 
both  from  "The  Garden  of  Dreams."  I  should 
like  to  quote  from  some  of  Mr.  Cawein's  excel- 
lent ballads,  and  to  give  the  whole  of  that  almost 
perfect  one  entitled  "Zyps  of  Zirl,"  but  a  list  of 
what  seems  to  me  his  best  ballads  must  suffice. 
These  include  'The  Norman  Knight,"  "Mosby 
at  Hamilton,"  "The  Moonshine,"  "Romaunt  of 
the  Oak,"  "Morgan  le  'Fay,"  "The  Dream  of 
Roderick,"  "How  They  Brought  Aid  to  Bryan's 
Station,"  and  many  others. 

Mr.  Cawein  still  has  many  crudities  which 
time  and  experience  are  bound  to  file  away.  It 
is  too  bad  that  his  poetry  is  so  full  of  unmusical 
lines,  but  he  is  rapidly  making  improvement  in 
rhythm  and  melody.  He  seems  to  be  gradually 
outgrowing  what  appeared  to  be  a  weakness  for 
enjambement ;  it  is  sometimes  almost  painful  to 
observe  how  he  runs  his  lines  on,  apparently  just 
to  keep  from  having  a  pause  at  the  end  of  the 
line,  and  thus  destroys  both  the  music  and  the 
force  of  the  line.  This  madness  for  enjarnbe- 


37^  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

ment  makes  him  frequently  end  lines  with  unim- 
portant and  unaccented  words,  and  now  and  then 
to  divide  a  word  in  the  middle.  Why  he  persists 
in  this  inartistic  process  (for  a  few  harsh  run- 
on  lines  occur  in  his  last  volume),  I  am  unable 
to  see.  He  gains  apparently  nothing,  and  loses 
a  beautiful  line,  and  sometimes  the  force  of  a  no- 
ble thought. 

The  poet  is  also  too  much  given  to  the  use  of 
unusual,  sometimes  unheard  of,  words,  as  nen- 
uphars (of  which  nine  readers  out  of  ten  never' 
heard  tell,  and  do  not  care  to),  phyllo cactus, 
Coreopsis,  girandoles,  Sepia-sketch,  and  the  like. 
Suclv  long  wrords  do  not  enhance  either  the  gen- 
eral beauty,  the  music,  or  the  value  of  his  poems, 
artistically  speaking. 

'"But  to  quote  Mr.  Howells :  "I  know  Mr.  Ca- 
wein  has  faults,  and  very  probably  he  knows  it 
too;  his  delight  in  color  sometimes  plunges  him 
irito  fnere  paint ;  his  wish  to  follow  a  subtle 
thought  or  etnotion  sometimes  lures  him  into 
empty  flask's :  his  devotion  to  nature  sometimes 
contents'  him  with  solitudes  bereft  of  the  human 
interest  by  which  alone  the  landscape  lives.  But 
he  is,  to  my  thinking,  a  most  genuine  poet." 

With>-a'b^re  mention  of  "The  White  Snake/' 
a  'beautiful  cvolume  of  his  translations  from  the 


MADISON"    CAYVKIN.  377 

German,  especially  from  that  of  Geibel,  Heine, 
Uhland,  and  Mirza-ShafTy,  I  take  leave  of  Mr. 
Cawein  by  giving  in  full  his  splendid  lyric — a 
masterpiece  in  every  sense,  in  spite  of  too  much 
alliteration,  another  weakness  of  the  poet — en- 
titled, "At  Vespers :" 

High  up  in  the  organ  story 

A  girl  stands  slim  and  fair; 
And  touched  with  the  casement's  glory 

Gleams  out  her  radiant  hair. 

The  young  priest  kneels  at  the  altar, 

Then  lifts  the  Host  above; 
And  the  psalm  intoned  from  the  psalter 

Is  pure  with  patient  love. 

A  sweet  bell  chimes ;  and  a  censer 
Swings  gleaming  in  the  gloom ; 

The  candles  glimmer  and  denser 
Rolls  up  the  pale  perfume. 

Then  high  in  the  organ  choir 

A  voice  of  crystal  soars, 
Of  patience  and  soul's  desire, 

That  suffers  and  adores. 

And  out  of  the  altar's  dimness 
An  answering  voice  doth  swell, 

Of  passion  that  cries  from  the  grimness 
And  anguish  of  its  own  hell. 


37S  MADISON    CAWEIN. 

High  up  in  the  organ  story 
One  kneels  with  a  girlish  grace; 

And,  touched  with  the  vesper  glory, 
Lifts  her  madonna  face. 

One  stands  at  the  cloudy  altar, 
A  form  bowed  down  and  thin; 

The  text  of  the  psalm  in  the  psalter 
He  reads,  is  sorrow  and  sin. 


A  CLOSING  SUMMARY. 

BY  JAMES   W.   SEWELL. 

WITH  the  period  of  recuperation  and  read- 
justment which  came  soon  after  the  Civil  War, 
there  began  a  sort  of  literary  revival  in  the 
South.  After  Sidney  Lanier  had  sung  out  his 
life  amid  barren  and  unappreciative  surround- 
ings, and  Irwin  Russell,  almost  unknown,  had 
opened  the  rich  vein  of  negro  dialect  and  song, 
the  world  began  to  take  notice  of  the  possibilities 
of  Southern  literature.  Soon  Cable  and  Grace 
King  began  to  tell  of  the  Creoles  of  the  quaint 
old  city  of  New  Orleans  and  of  the  flower-laden 
prairies  and  bayous  of  Louisiana ;  Page  began 
his  stories  of  the  war,  of  the  old-time  negroes 
and  their  devotion  to  their  aristocratic  masters; 
Richard  Malcolm  Johnston  was  picturing  the 
Georgia  Cracker  in  realistic  colors ;  Miss  Murfree 
was  lifting  the  blue  veil  of  the  Tennessee  moun- 
tains and  disclosing  to  us  lank  mountaineers — 
drawling,  ignorant,  heroic ;  and  Joel  Chandler 
Harris,  with  his  immortal  "Uncle  Remus/'  was 
leading  us  into  the  arcana  of  negro  folklore.  The 
furore  over  everything  Southern  was  at  its  height. 

This  sudden  discovery  of  fields  which  though 

(379) 


3^0  A    CLOSING    SUMMARY. 

fresh  were  limited  must  necessarily  be  followed 
by  their  complete  or  partial  exhaustion;  so  that 
for  some  years  there  has  been  seen  a  tendency 
toward  abandonment  of  these  narrow  limits. 
Without  drawing  chronological  lines  too  hard  and 
fast,  we  may  say  that  for  the  past  dozen  or  fifteen 
years  two  classes  of  writers  have  been  at  work 
among  us.  First,  there  are  the  older  writers 
mentioned :  they  have  for  the  most  part  continued 
the  same  style  of  work  in  which  they  won  suc- 
cess— that  is,  tales  and  dialect  stories  of  certain 
limited  regions.  Then  there  are  the  younger 
writers,  whose  reputations  have  been  made  within 
the  period  under  discussion,  and  whose  labors 
differ  somewhat  in  aim  and  scope  from  those 
of  the  first-named  class.  The  past  fifteen  years 
have  brought  before  the  world  Harry  Stillwell 
Edwards,  Sarah  Barn  well  Elliott,  John  Fox,  Jr., 
Miss  Ellen  Glasgow,  Miss  Mary  Johnston, 
Amelie  Rives,  Ruth  McEnery  Stuart,  and  others. 
The  writers  of  this  group  seem  to  be  advancing 
into  the  wide  field  of  a  literature  which  shall 
prove  of  a  more  general  interest  than  mere  local 
sketches  or  incidents. 

HARRY  STILLWELL  EDWARDS,  of  Macon,  Geor- 
gia, has  written  stories  and  novels  that  have  been 


A    CLOSING    SUMMARY.  381 

collected  into  four  volumes.  "Two  Runaways 
and  Other  Stories"  was  published  in  1886.  The 
interest  in  this  series  of  stories  is  mostly  because 
of  the  subject-matter,  some  phases  of  the  old 
Southern  life  being  passed  in  review.  The  lines 
are  broadly  sketched ;  the  humor  is  of  the  thigh- 
pounding  and  guffaw  character.  In  places  it 
seems  that  the  author  felt  more  than  he  succeeded 
in  expressing,  as  in  "Ole  Miss  an'  Sweetheart." 
Fineness  of  sentiment  is  not  revealed  by  -an  ar- 
tistic touch. 

"The  Marbeau  Cousins"  is  one  of  the  two 
novels.  It  deals  with  Southern  life  only  inci- 
dentally, for  the  purpose  obviously  is  to  find  a 
familiar  ground  for  the  incidents  of  the  story, 
not  to  furnish  a  picture  of  the  times  or  of  the 
section.  The  scenes  are  all  in  a  lurid  light.  A 
deep-reaching  and  comprehensive  plot  is  formed, 
but  the  results  in  general  are  not  proportionate  to 
the  labor  evidently  bestowed.  The  book  seems 
to  occupy  a  place  between  the  detective  story  and 
the  romance.  It  seeks  to  present  a  startling  novel 
touching  the  ghostly  and  mysterious,  yet  re- 
maining on  the  side  of  the  possible. 

"Sons  and  Fathers,"  which  took  the  Chicago 
Record's  ten-thousand-dollar  prize  a  few  years 
ago,  is  based  upon  Southern  life  of  the  period 


A    CLOSING    SUMMARY. 

just  after  the  Civil  War.  The  lofty  and  fra- 
grant chivalry  of  the  Old  South  appears  in  Col. 
Mount  joy  and  Gen.  Evan,  who  rally  to  the  sup- 
port of  the  persecuted  Morgan.  The  struggles 
of  a  soul  in  the  anguish  of  doubt  are  relieved  by 
the  mellowing  and  ennobling  force  of  a  woman's 
love.  Again,  an  intricate  plot  is  constructed,  and 
the  story  follows  smoothly  its  various  and  re- 
markable ramifications.  At  the  close,  when  all 
the  true  souls  are  rewarded,  all  the  evil  are  dis- 
appointed or  softened,  and  the  scenes  of  two  con- 
tinents are  searched  for  material  to  make  all 
tight  and  fair,  the  reader  is  once  more  con- 
strained to  feel  the  lack  of  literary  art,  which  is 
needed  to  balance  the  weight  of  ingenious  and 
broadly  laid  plot. 

"His  Defense  and  Other  Stories"  reaches  a 
higher  level  than  "The  Two  Runaways,"  etc. 
It  is  a  collection  of  short  stories,  mostly  grouped 
around  the  figure  of  Maj.  Crawford  Worthington 
and  his  man  Isom.  The  excellent  Major  takes 
position  as  one  of  the  distinct  and  admirable  char- 
acters of  Southern  fiction.  Of  the  broad,  roar- 
ing humor  of  the  first  book  of  stories,  not  much 
remains.  More  natural  situations  and  more  aptly 
chosen  language  indicate  better  balance  and  a 
firmer  hand. 


A    CLOSING   SUMMARY.  383 

SARAH  BARNWELL  ELLIOTT  is  another  Georgia 
writer.  For  some  time  she  has  resided  in  New 
York,  where  much  of  her  work  has  been  done, 
but  she  is  thoroughly  Southern  in  sympathies  and 
in  personality.  A  novel  and  a  volume  of  short 
stories  are  products  of  her  pen. 

"Jerry"  is  one  of  the  long  list  of  problem  novels 
that  recently  were  so  plentiful.  It  is  an  inco- 
herent portrayal  of  an  extremist,  an  example  of 
those  many  books  which-  show  the  worst  of  a 
system  without  suggesting  a  remedy.  Powerful 
as  the  realism  of  such  books  may  appear,  the 
prime  fault  is  lack  of  strength — the  strength  that 
would  grapple  such  questions  with  the  seer's 
vision  and  the  scientist's  logic.  There  is  too* 
much  prosing  and  philosophizing  if  the  book  is 
to  be  a  story ;  and  there  is  too  much  story  if  it 
is  to  be  a  treatise. 

"An  Incident  and  Other  Stories"  forms  a  pleas- 
ing contrast  to  the  volume  just  considered.  In 
this  series  of  stories  and  sketches  we  have  true 
outlines  of  Southern  life.  The  effect  is  gained, 
too,  rather  by  self-restraint  and  the  power  of 
suggestion  than  by  laborious  details. 

JOHN  Fox,  JR.,  one  of  our  younger  writers, 
was  born  in  the  midst  of  the  blue  grass  region  of 


384  A    CLOSING    SUMMARY. 

Kentucky,  and  the  varied  life  of  his  native  State 
has  been  his  principal  theme.  Most  of  his  vol- 
umes comprise  stories  of  the  Kentucky  moun- 
taineers, the  fiercest  of  all  the  Southern  moun- 
taineers. One  novel  treats  of  mountain  life  in 
its  contact  with  the  life  of  the  blue  grass. 

"  'A  Cumberland  Vendetta/  "  says  the  Critic, 
"is  the  best  analyzation  we  know  of  the  motives 
which  move  to  vindictive  bloodshed  that  race  of 
sturdy  mountaineers."  In  "The  Kentuckians" 
Fox  shows  how  thin  is  the  partition  which  sep- 
arates the  "chivalrous"  blue  grass  aristocrat,  who 
shoots  to  death  because  of  quick  anger  or 
wounded  sense  of  honor,  from  the  semi-savage 
mountaineer,  who  shoots  because  his  fathers  did 
and  because  of  his  mere  love  of  the  human  chase. 
How  this  thirst  for  human  blood  is  nourished 
by  the  very  children  and  passed  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another,  is  vividly  shown  in  the  "Cum- 
berland Vendetta,"  "The  Last  of  the  Stetsons," 
etc.  It  is  made  very  plain  that  the  feuds  are  a 
genuine  savage  instinct,  not  fed  by  insult  or  even 
by  hatred. 

"A  Mountain  Europa"  is  by  no  means  so  clever, 
although  the  Critic  calls  it  "the  most  powerful 
story  of  mountain  life  yet  given  us."  The  au- 
thor does  a  better  piece  of  work  in  "The  Ken- 


A    CLOSING    SUMMARY.  385 

tuckians,"  in  one  respect.  The  blunder  of  mating 
two  such  natures  as  the  cultured  young  engineer 
from  the  metropolis  and  the  wild  girl  of  the 
hills  is  glaringly  apparent.  The  author  is  drawn 
away  by  a  situation  in  "A  Mountain  Europa," 
and  extricates  himself  only  by  a  horrible  trag- 
edy. 

A  series  of  thumb-nail  sketches  compose  the 
little  volume  entitled  "Hell  fer  Sartain."  The 
customary  self-restraint  of  the  author  goes  al- 
most too  far  in  the  way  of  brevity  and  sugges- 
tion. 

''The  Kentuckians"  traces  the  progress  of  ri- 
valry between  two  men  who  seek  the  hand  of  the 
Governor's  daughter.  It  does  more :  it  repre- 
sents in  these  men  two  forces  which  constantly 
overshadow  each  other  and  clash-— in  Marshall  all 
the  brilliancy  and  all  the  faults  of  the  old  blue 
grass  school  of  aristocrat-politicians ;  in  Stal- 
lard  ihe  simplicity  and  elemental  strength  of  the 
mountaineer.  Both  characters  are  strongly 
drawn.  The  book  is  admirable  in  its  intellectual 
force.  Especially  is  this  observed  in  its  analysis 
of  the  surface  difference  between  the  blue  grass 
civilization  and  the  mountain  life.  Such  a  play 
of  light  on  men's  ways  and  motives  is  Fox's  best 
work. 


A    CLOSING    SUMMARY. 

ELLEN  GLASGOW  is  a  Virginian.  Reared  in 
the  most  exclusive  social  atmosphere,  one  might 
have  looked  for  the  usual  "society  novel"  from 
her  pen.  But  an  early  interest  in  sociological 
and  economic  studies  showed  the  bent  of  her 
mind;  and  "The  Descendant,"  published  in  1897, 
the  "Voice  of  the  People,"  published  in  1899,  and 
"The  Battle  Ground/'  published  in  1902,  may  be 
considered  most  representative  of  her  literary 
labors. 

"The  Descendant,"  while  it  shows  intellectual 
power  and  a  desire  for  the  good  of  humanity,  is 
another  of  the  wild  and  ineffectual  books  of  a  re- 
cent cult.  It  is  a  story  of  a  fevered  life  under 
diseased  conditions — a  pitiful  life  of  a  pitiful 
nature,  one  that  began  in  scorn  and  contempt, 
flourished  in  fanaticism  and  breadless  theories, 
and  ended  in  a  prison  cell.  Down  with  it  was 
dragged  a  woman  of  great  promise,  whose  heart 
was  true  underneath  all  the  surface  of  artificiality 
— dragged  down,  but  not  soiled. 

"The  Voice  of  the  People"  is  a  saner,  cleaner, 
and  better-balanced  book  than  the  preceding 
novel.  It  is  constructed  somewhat  broadly  on 
the  same  lines,  but  it  seems  that  the  author's 
theories  have  become  adjusted  to  a  better  knowl- 
edge of  the  world. 


A    CLOSING   SUMMARY.  387 

•"The  Battle  Ground"  shows  in  general  the 
same  mental  tendencies  of  the  author.  The 
same  close  study  of  heredity  and  of  social  condi- 
tions is  manifest.  In  Betty,  the  heroine,  we  have 
pictured  just  the  kind  of  sane,  tender,  practical, 
wholly  womanly  nature  that  was  given  us  in  the 
character  of  Eugie  in  the  preceding  novel.  The 
portrayal  of  the  grandiose,  chivalrous  life  of  the 
testy  old  planter  is  hardly  surpassed  by  any  other 
author;  while  the  beautiful  fellowship  between 
the  old-time  master  and  slave  has  never  been 
more  vividly  brought  before  the  mind  of  the 
younger  generation  than  in  the  pages  telling  of 
Dan  and  Big  Abel.  It  is  a  book  of  power  and 
of  poise. 

MARY  JOHNSTON,  a  native  of  Virginia  but  for 
some  time  a  resident  of  Birmingham,  Alabama, 
has  written  three  novels  that  have  attracted  un- 
usual attention. 

"Prisoners  of  Hope,"  her  first  book,  gave  a 
vivid  picture  of  some  features  of  early  colonial 
life  in  Virginia.  It  had  a  freshness  and  vigor 
that  promised  still  better  work  from  its  author. 
The  two  critical  faults  of  the  book  are  immaturity 
of  powers,  and  lack  of  intellectual  force  and  bal- 
ance. These  faults  account  for  over-description, 


388  A    CLOSlNc;    STMMAKY. 

cant  expressions,  stereotyped  female  character, 
sensations. 

"To  Have  and  to  Hold"  is  in  many  respects 
similar  to  its  predecessor,  but  is  a  distinct  im- 
provement. Both  books  represent  early  Vir- 
ginia life ;  each  has  a  haughty,  petted  woman  who 
after  vicissitudes  becomes  gentle  and  womanly ; 
each  has  a  long  sea  voyage  and  a  storm ;  each 
has  an  attack  by  Indians ;  each  has  a  friendly  In- 
dian to  help  the  colonists.  But,  although  the  sec- 
ond book  depends  largely  upon  sensation  and 
bizarre  incident,  it  shows  better  judgment.  The 
first  book  ends  in  a  way  that  must  be  considered 
ludicrous;  the  second  ends  in  a  way  that  is  ar- 
tistic and  just. 

"Audrey"  is  the  latest  of  her  volumes,  being 
published  in  1901.  This  story  also  moves  upon 
familiar  ground,  but  the  plot  shows  more  de- 
parture from  the  preceding  books.  The  narra- 
tive possesses  more  of  unity,  therefore  more  of 
strength  and  maturity.  The  characterization  of 
Audrey  is  even  and  consistent,  notwithstanding 
that  the  heroine  seems  now  and  then  perilously 
near  to  being  feeble-minded.  However,  the  prog- 
ress of  the  story  does  no  real  violence  to  the  con- 
ception of  the  worldly  aristocrats  of  that  day  nor 


A    CLOSING    SUMMARY.  389 

of  the  simple  and  innocent  forest  waif  who  met  a 
fate  so  tragic. 

AMELIE  RIVES,  of  Virginia,  has  produced  some 
works  of  a  quality  so  peculiar  as  to  have  a  place 
almost  alone. 

In  the  once  famous  "The  Quick  or  the  Dead" 
she  failed  of  one  object.  Wishing,  as  she  said, 
to  delineate  "a  sensitive  and  morbid  woman  who 
feels  that  she  is  being  disloyal  to  her  dead  hus- 
band in  loving  a  living  man,"  the  result  most  dis- 
tinctly attained  is  a  brilliant  light  upon  the  wom- 
an's sensuous  nature. 

A  second  volume  called  "A  Brother  to  Drag- 
ons" contains  a  story  with  this  title,  followed 
by  "The  Farrier  Lass  of  Piping  Peb worth" 
and  "Nurse  Crumpet  Tells  the  Story."  All 
these  ring  changes  on  the  same  theme — guilty 
love. 

"Tanis  the  Sang-digger"  is  a  book  that  grows 
in  interest  and  strength  despite  the  strong  repul- 
sion of  the  opening  pages.  A  wild  creature  of 
impossible  beauty  and  incredible  coarseness  is, 
by  skillful  touches,  altered  into  a  woman  who  re- 
ceives with  deep  gratitude  the  refinements  of  civ- 
ilized life.  But  the  spark  of  savagery  is  still 
there,  and  the  strange  being  is  at  last  lured  away 


39°  A    CLOSING   SUMMARY. 

by  a  cunning,  passionate,  merciless  brute  of  her 
own  class  of  "sang-diggers." 

RUTH  McENERY  STUART,  a  native  of  Louisi- 
ana and  a  descendant  of  the  choicest  strains  of 
Southern  aristocrats,  is  an  author  whose  work- 
calls  for  the  most  sympathetic  criticism  by  any 
Southern  reader.  Almost  all  her  productions 
are  short  stories.  Accurate  to  the  life,  almost 
flawless  in  taste,  deft  and  graceful  in  touch,  they 
will  appeal  to  every  artistic  nature;  at  the  same 
time,  her  delineation  of  old-time  life  in  the  South 
will  undoubtedly  form  a  valuable  part  of  the 
library  of  the  future  historian  and  sociologist. 

The  very  best  work  frem  Mrs.  Stuart's  pen  is 
certainly  her  portraiture  of  the  poorer  classes. 
She  is  the  laureate  of  the  lowly.  All  the  pretty 
side  of  even  the  blackest  rag-picker's  nature  is 
given.  A  sane  and  sunny  genius  has  observed 
and  reproduced  what  is  most  worthy  to  live. 

Free  from  all  malice,  superior  to  all  triviality, 
her  humor  brightens  all  it  touches.  Whether 
it  is  the  fat  bachelor  Ki  bemoaning  the  possibility 
of  a  fat  wife,  the  sparkling  wit  of  the  Irishman 
Rooney,  or  the  guileless  devotion  of  the  old- 
young  father  of  "Sonny,"  the  humor  is  equally 
kindly,  keen,  and  true.  Not  less  effective  is  her 


A    CLOSING    SUMMARY.  391 

power  of  pathos.  Never  obtrusive,  it  steals  upon 
one  like  a  strain  of  music,  and  leaves  an  effect 
all  as  peaceful  and  gentle. 

Her  delineation  of  negro  life  is  always  satis- 
factory. In  two  respects  are  both  sides  given: 
the  old-time  darky's  devotion  to  his  master  and 
mistress,  as  well  as  the  uprightness  of  the  half- 
starved  old  "mammy"  and  "uncle"  of  to-day  as 
they  live  in  seclusion  and  pride  apart  from  others ; 
also  the  frailties  of  the  negro  in  general  as  well 
as  his  fine  qualities — his  exaggerations,  his  petty 
thefts,  his  shiftlessness,  his  divorcement  of  reli- 
gion from  morality,  his  superstition,  as  well  as 
his  sense  of  honor,  his  loyalty,  and  his  inborn 
reverence  for  authority. 

To  throw  such  charming  lights  as  she  does 
upon  the  great  currents  that  sweep  around  and 
beneath  our  daily  life,  shows  the  hand  of  a  true 
artist  and  the  heart  of  a  wise  and  kindly-souled 
student. 

The  limits  of  this  paper  forbid  more  than  a 
bare  mention  of  several  writers  of  reputation : 
In  prose — "Octave  Thanet"  and  Mrs.  M.  E.  M. 
Davis,  both  writing  stories  of  the  Southwestern 
States;  Will  Allen  Dromgoole  and  John  Trot- 
wood  Moore  with  their  stories  of  Tennessee : 


392  A    CLOSING    SUMMARY. 

Molly  Elliott  Seawell  and  Julia  Magruder,  of 
Virginia.  In  poetry — Robert  Burns  Wilson  and 
Madison  Cawein,  both  of  Kentucky  ;  Samuel  Min- 
turn  Peck,  of  Alabama ;  Father  Tabb,  of  Mary- 
land;  Frank  L.  Stanton,  of  Georgia.  These  of- 
fer a  tempting  field  for  study,  not  only  for  a 
Southerner,  but  for  any  student  of  American 
literature;  for,  to  judge  by  the  tendencies  of 
present-day  writers  in  the  South,  the  time  is  at 
hand  when  we  shall  not  speak  of  "Southern  lit- 
erature," but  of  American  literature  as  devel- 
oped in  the  South, 


,YA  08853 


